HE  CHINK 


#  MRS*  dEIjLOC 
-LOWNDES 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFOP"  ^ 

RIVERSIDE 


Dr.  C.  H 

CALbTOCK:,  Cornwall. 


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THE  CfflNK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 


THE  CHINK 
IN  THE  ARMOUR 

BY 

MRS.  BELLOC  LOWNDES 


AUTHOR  OF 

THE  END  OF  HER  HONEYMOON, 
THE  LODGER,  Etc. 


"  But  there  is  one  chink  in  the  chain 
armour  of  civilized  communities.  So- 
ciety is  conducted  on  the  assumption 
that  murder  will  not  be  committed" — 
Thk  Spectator. 


NEW    YORK 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


Made  is  tbe  United  Statei  o(  Amcnca 


Copyright,  1912.  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  March,  1912 


I     ^-^  OC' 


PRINTED  IN  THE'UNITED  5TATE9 

AT 

THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  S.  T, 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 


CHAPTER  I 

A  small,  shiny,  pink  card  lay  on  the  round  table  in 
Sylvia  Bailey's  sitting-room  at  the  Hotel  de  I'Horloge 
in  Paris. 

She  had  become  quite  accustomed  to  finding  one  or 
more  cards — cards  from  dressmakers,  cards  from  corset- 
makers,  cards  from  hairdressers — lying  on  her  sitting- 
room  table,  but  there  had  never  been  a  card  quite  like 
this  card. 

Although  it  was  pink,  it  looked  more  like  a  visiting- 
card  than  a  tradesman's  advertisement,  and  she  took 
it  up  with  some  curiosity.  It  was  inscribed  "Madame 
Cagliostra,"  and  underneath  the  name  were  written  the 
words  "Diseuse  de  la  Bonne  Aventure"  and  then,  in  a 
corner,  in  very  small  black  letters,  the  address,  "5,  Rue 
Jolie,  Montmartre." 

A  fortune-teller's  card?    What  an  extraordinary  thing! 

Like  many  pretty,  prosperous,  idle  women,  Sylvia  was 
rather  superstitious.  Not  long  before  this,  her  first  visit 
to  Paris,  a  London  acquaintance  had  taken  her  to  see  a 
noted  palmist  named  "Pharaoh,"  in  Bond  Street.  She 
had  paid  her  guinea  willingly  enough,  but  the  result  had 
vaguely  disappointed  her,  and  she  had  had  the  feeling, 
all  the  time  she  was  with  him,  that  the  man  was  not 
really  reading  her  hand. 

1 


Z  THE    CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

True,  "Pharaoh"  had  told  her  she  was  going  abroad, 
and  at  that  time  she  had  no  intention  of  doing  so.  The 
palmist  had  also  told  her — and  this  was  really  rather 
curious — that  she  would  meet,  when  abroad,  a  foreign 
woman  who  would  have  a  considerable  influence  on  her 
life.  Well,  in  this  very  Hotel  de  I'Horloge  Mrs.  Bailey 
had  come  across  a  Polish  lady,  named  Anna  Wolsky, 
who  was,  like  Sylvia  herself,  a  j'^oung  widow,  and  the 
two  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  one  another. 

It  was  most  unlikely  that  Madame  Wolsky  would 
have  the  slightest  influence  on  her,  Sylvia  Bailey's, 
life,  but  at  any  rate  it  was  very  curious  coincidence. 
"Pharaoh"  had  proved  to  be  right  as  to  these  two  things 
— she  had  come  abroad,  and  she  had  formed  a  friendship 
with  a  foreign  woman. 

Mrs.  Bailey  was  still  standing  by  the  table,  and  still 
holding  the  pink  card  in  her  hand,  when  her  new  friend 
came  into  the  room. 

"Well?"  said  Anna  Wolsky,  speaking  English  with  a 
strong  foreign  accent,  but  still  speaking  it  remarkably 
well,  "  Have  you  yet  decided,  my  dear,  what  we  shall  do 
this  afternoon?  There  are  a  dozen  things  open  to  us, 
and  I  am  absolutely  at  your  service  to  do  any  one  of 
them!" 

Sylvia  Bailey  laughingly  shook  her  head. 

" I  feel  lazy,"  she  said.  "I've  been  at  the  Bon  Marche 
ever  since  nine  o'clock,  and  I  feel  more  like  having  a 
rest  than  going  out  again,  though  it  does  seem  a  shame 
to  stay  in  a  day  like  this!" 

The  windows  were  wide  open,  the  June  sun  was  stream- 
ing in,  and  on  the  light  breeze  was  borne  the  murmur  of 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUH  3 

the  traffic  in  the  Avenue  de  I'Opera,  within  a  few  yards 
of  the  quiet  street  where  the  Hotel  de  I'Horloge  is  situated. 

The  other  woman — Anna  Wolsky  was  some  years 
older  than  Sylvia  Bailey — smiled  indulgently. 

"  Tiens!"  she  cried  suddenly,  "what  have  you  got 
there?"  and  she  took  the  pink  card  out  of  Sylvia's 
hand. 

"  Madame  Cagliostra?  "  she  repeated,  musingly.  "  Now 
where  did  I  hear  that  name?  Yes,  of  course  it  was  from 
our  chambermaid!  Cagliostra  is  a  friend  of  hers,  and, 
according  to  her,  a  marvellous  person — one  from  whom 
the  devil  keeps  no  secrets!  She  charges  only  five  francs 
for  a  consultation,  and  it  appears  that  all  sorts  of  well- 
known  people  go  to  her,  even  those  whom  the  Parisians 
call  the  Gratin,  that  is,  the  Upper  Crust,  from  the  Champs 
Elysees  and  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain!" 

"I  don't  think  much  of  fortune-tellers,"  said  Sylvia, 
thoughtfully.  "  I  went  to  one  last  time  I  was  in  London 
and  he  really  didn't  tell  me  anything  of  the  slightest 
interest." 

Her  conscience  pricked  her  a  little  as  she  said  this,  for 
"Pharaoh"  had  certainly  predicted  a  journey  which  she 
had  then  no  intention  of  taking,  and  a  meeting  with  a 
foreign  woman.  Yet  here  she  was  in  Paris,  and  here  was 
the  foreign  woman  standing  close  to  her! 

Nay  more,  Anna  Wolsky  had  become — it  was  really 
rather  odd  that  it  should  be  so — the  first  intimate  friend 
of  her  own  sex  Sylvia  had  made  since  she  was  a  grown- 
up woman. 

"  I  do  believe  in  fortune-tellers,"  said  Madame  Wolsky 
deliberately,  "  and  that  being  so  I  shall  spend  my  after- 


4  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

noon  in  going  up  to  Montmartre,  to  the  Rue  Jolie,  to 
hear  what  this  Caghostra  has  to  say.  It  will  be  what 
you  in  England  call  'a  lark'!  And  I  do  not  see  why  I 
should  not  give  myself  so  cheap  a  lark  as  a  five-franc 
lark!" 

"Oh,  if  you  really  mean  to  go,  I  think  I  will  go  too!'* 
cried  Sylvia,  gaily. 

She  was  beginning  to  feel  less  tired,  and  the  thought 
of  a  long  lonely  afternoon  spent  indoors  and  by  herself 
lacked  attraction. 

Linking  her  arm  through  her  friend's,  she  went  down- 
stairs and  into  the  barely  furnished  dining-room,  which 
was  so  very  unlike  an  English  hotel  dining-room.  In 
this  dining-room  the  wallpaper  simulated  a  vine-covered 
trellis,  from  out  of  which  peeped  blue-plumaged  birds, 
and  on  each  little  table,  covered  by  an  unbleached  table- 
cloth, stood  an  oil  and  vinegar  cruet  and  a  half-bottle 
of  wine. 

The  Hotel  de  I'Horloge  was  a  typical  French  hotel, 
and  foreigners  very  seldom  stayed  there.  Sylvia  had 
been  told  of  the  place  by  the  old  French  lady  who  had 
been  her  governess,  and  who  had  taught  her  to  speak 
French  exceptionally  well. 

Several  quiet  Frenchmen,  who  had  offices  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, w^ere  "en  'pension"  at  the  Hotel  de  I'Horloge, 
and  as  the  two  friends  came  in  many  were  the  steady, 
speculative  glances  cast  in  their  direction. 

To  the  average  Frenchman  every  woman  is  interest- 
ing; for  every  Frenchman  is  in  love  with  love,  and  in 
each  fair  stranger  he  sees  the  possible  heroine  of  a  ro- 
mance in  which  he  may  play  the  agreeable  part  of  hero. 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  5 

So  it  was  that  Sylvia  Bailey  and  Anna  Wolsky  both  had 
their  silent  admirers  among  those  who  lunched  and  dined 
in  the  narrow  green  and  white  dining-room  of  the  Hotel 
de  I'Horloge. 

Only  a  Frenchman  would  have  given  a  second  look  at 
the  Polish  lady  while  Sylvia  was  by,  but  a  Frenchman, 
being  both  a  philosopher  and  a  logician  by  nature,  is  very 
apt  to  content  himself  with  the  second-best  when  he 
knows  the  best  is  not  for  him. 

The  two  friends  were  in  entire  contrast  to  one  another. 
Madame  Wolsky  was  tall,  dark,  almost  swarthy;  there 
was  a  look  of  rather  haughty  pride  and  reserve  on  her 
strong-featured  face.  She  dressed  extremely  plainly,  the 
only  ornament  ever  worn  by  her  being  a  small  gold 
horseshoe,  in  the  centre  of  which  was  treasured — so,  not 
long  ago,  she  had  confided  to  Sylvia,  who  had  been  at 
once  horrified  and  thrilled — a  piece  of  the  rope  with  which 
a  man  had  hanged  himself  at  Monte  Carlo  two  years 
before!  For  Madame  Wolsky — and  she  made  no  secret 
of  the  fact  to  her  new  friend — was  a  gambler. 

Anna  Wolsky  was  never  really  happy,  she  did  not  feel 
more  than  half  alive,  when  away  from  the  green  cloth. 
She  had  only  left  Monte  Carlo  when  the  heat  began  to 
make  the  place  unbearable  to  one  of  her  northern  tem- 
perament, and  she  was  soon  moving  on  to  one  of  the 
French  watering-places,  where  gambling  of  sorts  can  be 
indulged  in  all  the  summer  through. 

Different  in  looks,  in  temperament,  and  in  tastes  were 
the  two  young  widows,  and  this,  perhaps,  was  why  they 
got  on  so  excellently  well  together. 

Sylvia  Bailey  was  the  foreign  ideal  of  a  beautiful  Eng- 


6  THE    CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

lish woman.  Iler  hair  was  fair,  and  curled  naturally. 
Her  eyes  were  of  that  blue  which  looks  violet  in  the  sun- 
light; and  she  had  a  delicate,  rose  leaf  complexion. 

Married  when  only  nineteen  to  a  man  much  older  than 
herself,  she  was  now  at  twenty-five  a  widow,  and  one 
without  any  intimate  duties  or  close  ties  to  fill  her  exist- 
ence. Though  she  had  mourned  George  Bailey  sincerely, 
she  had  soon  recovered  all  her  normal  interest  and  pleas- 
ure in  life. 

Mrs.  Bailey  was  fond  of  dress  and  able  to  indulge  her 
taste;  but,  even  so,  good  feeling  and  the  standard  of 
propriety  of  the  English  country  town  of  Market  Bailing 
where  she  had  spent  most  of  her  life,  perhaps  also  a  subtle 
instinct  that  nothing  else  would  ever  suit  her  so  well, 
made  her  remain  rigidly  faithful  to  white  and  black,  pale 
grey,  and  lavender.  She  also  wore  only  one  ornament, 
but  it  was  a  very  becoming  and  an  exceedingly  costly 
ornament,  for  it  consisted  of  a  string  of  large  and  finely- 
matched  pearls. 

As  the  two  friends  went  upstairs  after  luncheon  Madame 
Wolsky  said  earnestly,  "If  I  were  you,  Sylvia,  I  would 
certainly  leave  your  pearls  in  the  office  this  afternoon. 
Where  is  the  use  of  wearing  them  on  such  an  expedition 
as  that  to  a  fortune-teller?" 

"  But  why  shouldn't  I  wear  them?  "  asked  Sylvia,  rather 
surprised. 

"  Well,  in  your  place  I  should  certainly  leave  anything 
as  valuable  as  your  pearls  in  safe  keeping.  After  all,  we 
know  nothing  of  this  Madame  Cagliostra,  and  Mont- 
martre  is  what  Parisians  call  an  eccentric  quarter." 

Sylvia  Bailey  disliked  very  much  taking  off  her  pearls. 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  7 

Though  she  could  not  have  put  the  fact  into  words,  this 
string  of  pearls  was  to  her  a  symbol  of  her  freedom,  al- 
most of  her  womanhood. 

As  a  child  and  young  girl  she  had  been  under  the  close 
guardianship  of  a  stern  father,  and  it  was  to  please  him 
that  she  had  married  the  rich,  middle-aged  man  at  Market 
Dalling  whose  adoration  she  had  endured  rather  than 
reciprocated.  George  Bailey  also  had  been  a  determined 
man — determined  that  his  young  wife  should  live  his  way, 
not  hers.  During  their  brief  married  life  he  had  heaped 
on  her  showy,  rather  than  beautiful,  jewels;  nothing 
of  great  value,  nothing  she  could  wear  when  in  mourning. 

And  then,  four  months  after  her  husband's  death, 
Sylvia's  own  aunt  had  died  and  left  her  a  thousand 
pounds.  It  was  this  legacy — which  her  trustee,  a  young 
solicitor  named  William  Chester,  who  was  also  a  friend 
and  an  admirer  of  hers,  as  well  as  her  trustee,  had  been 
proposing  to  invest  in  what  he  called  "a  remarkably 
good  thing" — Mrs.  Bailey  had  insisted  on  squandering 
on  a  string  of  pearls! 

Sylvia  had  become  aware,  in  the  subtle  way  in  which 
women  become  aware  of  such  things,  that  pearls  were  the 
fashion — in  fact,  in  one  sense,  "the  only  wear."  She  had 
noticed  that  most  of  the  great  ladies  of  the  neighbourhood 
of  Market  Dalling,  those  whom  she  saw  on  those  occa- 
sions when  town  and  county  meet,  each  wore  a  string  of 
pearls.  She  had  also  come  to  know  that  pearls  seem  to  be 
the  only  gems  which  can  be  worn  with  absolute  propriety 
by  a  widow,  and  so,  suddenly,  she  had  made  up  her  mind 
to  invest — she  called  it  an  "investment,"  while  Chester 
called  it  an  "  absurd  extravagance  " — in  a  string  of  pearls. 

Bill  Chester  had  done  his  very  best  to  persuade  her  to 


8  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

give  up  her  silly  notion,  but  she  had  held  good;  she  had 
shown  herself,  at  any  rate  on  this  one  occasion,  and  in 
spite  of  her  kindly,  yielding  nature,  obstinate. 

This  was  why  her  beautiful  pearls  had  become  to 
Sylvia  Bailey  a  symbol  of  her  freedom.  The  thousand 
pounds,  invested  as  Bill  Chester  had  meant  to  invest  it, 
would  have  brought  her  in  ;^55  a  year,  so  he  had  told  her 
in  a  grave,  disapproving  tone. 

In  return  she  had  told  him,  the  colour  rushing  into  her 
pretty  face,  that  after  all  she  had  the  right  to  do  what 
she  chose  with  her  legacy,  the  more  so  that  this  thousand 
pounds  was  in  a  peculiar  sense  her  own  money,  as  the 
woman  who  had  left  it  her  was  her  mother's  sister,  having 
nothing  to  do  either  with  her  father  or  with  the  late 
George  Bailey! 

And  so  she  had  had  her  way — nay,  more;  Chester,  at 
the  very  last,  had  gone  to  great  trouble  in  order  that  she 
might  not  be  cheated  over  her  purchase.  Best  of  all, 
Bill — Sylvia  always  called  the  serious-minded  young 
lawyer  "Bill" — had  Hved  to  admit  that  Mrs.  Bailey 
had  made  a  good  investment  after  all,  for  her  pearls 
had  increased  in  value  in  the  two  years  she  had  had 
them. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  the  young  widow  often  reminded 
herself  that  nothing  she  had  ever  bought,  and  nothing 
that  had  ever  been  given  her,  had  caused  her  such  last- 
ing pleasure  as  her  beloved  string  of  pearls! 

But  on  this  pleasant  June  afternoon,  in  deference  to 
her  determined  friend's  advice,  she  took  off  her  pearls 
before  starting  out  for  Montmartre,  leaving  the  case  in 
the  charge  of  M.  Girard,  the  genial  proprietor  of  the 
Hotel  de  I'Horloge. 


CHAPTER  II 

With  easy,  leisurely  steps,  constantly  stopping  to  look 
into  the  windows  of  the  quaint  shops  they  passed  on  the 
way,  Sylvia  Bailey  and  Anna  Wolsky  walked  up  the 
3teep,  the  almost  mountainous  byways  and  narrow 
streets  which  lead  to  the  top  of  Montmartre. 

The  whole  population  seemed  to  have  poured  itself 
out  in  the  open  air  on  this  sunny  day;  even  the  shop- 
keepers had  brought  chairs  out  of  their  shops  and  sat  on 
the  pavement,  gaily  laughing  and  gossiping  together  in 
the  eager  way  Parisians  have.  As  the  two  foreign  ladies, 
both  young,  both  in  their  very  different  fashion  good- 
looking,  walked  past  the  sitting  groups  of  neighbours — 
men,  women,  and  children  would  stop  talking  and  stare 
intently  at  them,  as  is  also  a  Parisian  way. 

At  first  Sylvia  had  disliked  the  manner  in  which  she 
Was  stared  at  in  Paris,  and  she  had  been  much  embar- 
rassed as  well  as  a  little  amused  by  the  very  frank  re- 
marks called  forth  in  omnibuses  as  well  as  in  the  street 
by  the  brilliancy  of  her  complexion  and  the  bright  beauty 
of  her  fair  hair.  But  now  she  was  almost  used  to  this 
odd  form  of  homage,  which  came  quite  as  often  from 
women  as  from  men. 

"The  Rue  Jolie?"  answered  a  cheerful-looking  man  in 
answer  to  a  question.  "Why,  it's  ever  so  much  further 
up!"  and  he  vaguely  pointed  skywards. 

And  it  was  much  further  up,  close  to  the  very  top  of 

9 


10  THE    CHINK   IX  THE   ARMOUR 

the  pre.it  hill  I  In  fact,  it  took  the  two  ladies  a  long 
time  to  find  it,  for  the  Rue  Jolie  was  the  funniest,  tiniest 
little  street,  perched  high  up  on  what  might  almost  have 
been  a  mountain  side. 

As  for  No.  5,  Rue  Jolie,  it  was  a  queer  miniature  house 
more  like  a  Swiss  chalet  than  anytliing  else,  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  gay,  untidy  little  garden  full  of  flowers, 
the  kind  of  half-wild,  shy,  and  yet  hardy  flowers  that 
come  up,  year  after  year,  without  being  tended  or 
watered. 

"Surely  a  fortune-teller  can't  live  here?"  exclaimed 
Sylvia  Bailey,  remembering  the  stately,  awe-inspiring 
rooms  in  which  "Pharaoh"  received  his  clients  in  Bond 
Street. 

"Oh,  yes,  this  is  evidently  the  place!" 

Anna  Wolsky  smiled  good-humouredly;  she  had  be- 
come extremely  fond  of  the  young  Englishw'oman ;  she 
delighted  in  Sylvia's  radiant  prettiness,  her  kindly  good- 
temper,  and  her  eager  pleasure  in  everj-thing. 

A  large  iron  gate  gave  access  to  the  courtyard  which 
was  so  much  larger  than  the  house  built  round  it.  But 
the  gate  was  locked,  and  a  pull  at  the  rusty  bell-wire 
produced  no  result. 

They  waited  a  while.  "She  must  have  gone  out,"  said 
Sylvia,  rather  disappointed. 

But  Madame  Wolsky,  without  speaking,  again  pulled 
at  the  rusty  wire,  and  then  one  of  the  chalet  windows 
was  suddenly  flung  open  from  above,  and  a  woman — a 
dark,  middle-aged  Frenchwoman — leant  out. 

"Qui  est  hi?"  and  then  before  either  of  them  could 
answer,  the  woman  had  drawn  back:    a  moment  later 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         11 

they  heard  her  heavy  progress  down  the  creaky  stairs 
of  her  dwelUng. 

At  last  she  came  out  into  the  courtyard,  unlocked  the 
*jron  gate,  and  curtly  motioned  to  the  two  ladies  to  fol- 
low her. 

"We  have  come  to  see  Madame  Cagliostra,"  said 
Sylvia  timidly.  She  took  this  stout,  untidily-dressed 
woman  for  the  fortune-teller's  servant. 

"Madame  Cagliostra,  at  your  service!"  The  woman 
turned  round,  her  face  breaking  into  a  broad  smile.  She 
evidently  liked  the  sound  of  her  peculiar  name. 

They  followed  her  up  a  dark  staircase  into  a  curious 
little  sitting-room.  It  was  scrupulously  clean,  but  about 
it  hung  the  faint  odour  which  the  French  eloquently  de- 
scribe as  "shut  in,"  and  even  on  this  beautiful  hot  day 
the  windows  were  tightly  closed. 

On  the  red  walls  hung  various  drawings  of  hands,  of 
hearts,  and  of  heads,  and  over  the  plain  mantelpiece  was 
a  really  fine  pastel  portrait  of  a  man,  in  eighteenth  cen- 
tury dress  and  powdered  hair. 

"My  ancestor,  Count  Cagliostro,  ladies!"  exclaimed 
the  fat  Uttle  woman  proudly.  "As  you  will  soon  see,  if 
you  have,  as  I  venture  to  suppose,  come  to  consult  me, 
I  have  inherited  the  great  gifts  which  made  Count  Cagli- 
ostro famous."  She  waited  a  moment.  "What  is  it  you 
desire  of  me?  Do  you  wish  for  the  Grand  Jeu?  Or  do 
you  prefer  the  Crystal?" 

Madame  Cagliostra  gave  a  shrewd,  measuring  glance 
at  the  two  young  women  standing  before  her.  She  was 
wondering  how  much  they  were  good  for. 

"No  doubt  you  have  been  told,"  she  said  suddenly, 


12  THE   CHINK   IN   THE    ARMOUR 

"that  my  fee  is  five  francs.  But  if  you  require  the 
Grand  Jeu  it  will  be  ten  francs.  Come,  ladies,  make  up 
your  minds;  I  will  give  you  both  the  Grand  Jeu  for 
fifteen  francs!" 

Sylvia  Bailey's  lip  quivered;  she  felt  a  wild  wish  to 
burst  out  laughing.  It  was  all  so  absurd;  this  funny 
queer  house;  this  odd,  stuffy,  empty-looking  room;  and 
this  vulgar,  common-looking  woman  asserting  that  she 
was  descended  from  the  famous  Count  Cagliostro!  And 
then,  to  crown  everything,  the  naive,  rather  pathetic, 
attempt  to  get  an  extra  five  francs  out  of  them. 

But  Sylvia  was  a  very  kindly,  happy-natured  creature, 
and  she  would  not  have  hurt  the  feelings  of  even  a 
Madame  Cagliostra  for  the  world. 

She  looked  at  her  friend  questioningly.  Would  it  not 
be  better  just  to  give  the  woman  five  francs  and  go  away? 
They  surely  could  not  expect  to  hear  anything  of  any 
value  from  such  a  person.    She  was  evidently  a  fraud! 

But  Anna  Wolsky  was  staring  at  Madame  Cagliostra 
with  a  serious  look. 

"Very  well,"  she  exclaimed,  in  her  rather  indifferent 
French.  "Very  well!  We  will  both  take  the  Grand  Jeu 
at  fifteen  francs  the  two." 

She  turned  and  smiled  at  Sylvia.  "It  will  be,"  she 
said,  quaintly,  and  in  English,  "my  'treat,'  dear  friend." 
And  then,  as  Sylvia  shook  her  head  decidedly — there 
were  often  these  little  contests  of  generosity  between  the 
two  women — she  added  rather  sharply, 

"Yes,  yes!  It  shall  be  so.  I  insist!  I  see  you  do 
not  believe  in  our  hostess's  gift.  There  are,  however, 
one  or  two  questions  I  must  ask,  and  to  which  I  fancy 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         13 

she  can  give  me  an  answer.  I  am  anxious,  too,  to  hear 
what  she  will  say  about  you" 

Sylvia  smiled,  and  gave  way. 

Like  most  prosperous  people  who  have  not  made  the 
money  they  are  able  to  spend,  Mrs.  Bailey  did  not  at^ 
tach  any  undue  importance  to  wealth.  But  she  knew 
that  her  friend  was  not  as  well  off  as  herself,  and  there- 
fore she  was  always  trying  to  pay  a  little  more  of  her 
share  than  was  fair.  Thanks  to  Madame  Wolsky's 
stronger  will,  she  very  seldom  succeeded  in  doing  so. 

"We  might  at  least  ask  her  to  open  the  window,"  she 
said  rather  plaintively.     It  really  was  dreadfully  stuffy  I 

Madame  Caghostra  had  gone  to  a  sideboard  from 
which  she  was  taking  two  packs  of  exceedingly  dirty, 
queer-looking  cards.  They  were  the  famous  Taro  cards, 
but  Sylvia  did  not  know  that. 

When  the  fortune-teller  was  asked  to  open  the  window, 
she  shook  her  head  decidedly. 

"  No,  no ! "  she  said.  "  It  would  dissipate  the  influences. 
I  cannot  do  that!  On  the  contrary,  the  curtains  should 
be  drawn  close,  and  if  the  ladies  will  permit  of  it  I  will 
light  my  lamp." 

Even  as  she  spoke  she  was  jerking  the  thick  curtains 
closely  together;  she  even  pinned  them  across  so  that  no 
ray  of  the  bright  sunUght  outside  could  penetrate  into 
the  room. 

For  a  few  moments  they  were  in  complete  darkness, 
and  Sylvia  felt  a  queer,  eerie  sensation  of  fear,  but  this 
soon  passed  away  as  the  lamp — the  "Suspension,"  as 
Madame  Cagliostra  proudly  called  it — was  lit. 

When  her  lamp  was  well  alight,  the  soothsayer  drew 


14  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

three  chairs  up  to  the  round  table,  and  motioned  the  two 
strangers  to  sit  down. 

"You  will  take  my  friend  first,"  said  Anna  Wolsky, 
imperiously;  and  then,  to  Sylvia,  she  said,  in  English, 
"  Would  you  rather  I  went  away,  dear?  I  could  wait  on 
the  staircase  till  you  were  ready  for  me  to  come  back. 
It  is  not  very  pleasant  to  have  one's  fortune  told  when 
one  is  as  young  and  as  pretty  as  you  are,  before  other 
people." 

"Of  course  I  don't  mind  your  being  here!"  cried  Sylvia 
Bailey,  laughing — then,  looking  doubtfully  at  ISIadame 
Cagliostra,  though  it  was  obvious  the  Frenchwoman  did 
not  understand  English,  "The  truth  is  that  I  should 
feel  rather  frightened  if  you  were  to  leave  me  here  all  by 
myself.    So  please  stay." 

Madame  Cagliostra  began  dealing  out  the  cards  on 
the  table.  First  slowly,  then  quickly,  she  laid  them 
out  in  a  queer  pattern;  and  as  she  did  so  she  muttered 
and  murmured  to  herself.  Then  a  frown  came  over 
her  face;  she  began  to  look  disturbed,  anxious,  almost 
angry. 

Sylvia,  in  spite  of  herself,  grew  interested  and  excited. 
She  was  sorry  she  had  not  taken  off  her  wedding-ring. 
In  England  the  wise  woman  always  takes  off  her  wedding- 
ring  on  going  to  see  a  fortune-teller.  She  was  also  rather 
glad  that  she  had  left  her  pearls  in  the  safe  custody  of 
M.  Girard.  This  little  house  in  the  Rue  Jolie  was  a 
strange,  lonely  place. 

Suddenly  Madame  Cagliostra  began  to  speak  in  a 
quick,  clear,  monotonous  voice. 

Keeping  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  cards,  which  now  and 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         15 

again  she  touched  with  a  fat  finger,  and  without  looking 
at  Sylvia,  she  said: 

"INIadame  has  led  a  very  placid,  quiet  life.  Her 
existence  has  been  a  boat  that  has  always  lain  in  har- 
bour  "  She  suddenly  looked  up:  " I  spent  my  child- 
hood at  Dieppe,  and  that  often  suggests  images  to  me," 
she  observed  complacently,  and  then  she  went  on  in 
quite  another  tone  of  voice: — 

"To  return  to  Madame  and  her  fate!  The  boat  has 
always  been  in  harbour,  but  now  it  is  about  to  put  out 
to  sea.  It  will  meet  there  another  craft.  This  other 
craft  is,  to  Madame,  a  foreign  craft,  and  I  grieve  to  say 
it,  rather  battered.  But  its  timbers  are  sound,  and  that 
is  w^ell,  for  it  looks  to  me  as  if  the  sails  of  INIadame's 
boat  would  mingle,  at  any  rate  for  a  time  with  this  bat- 
tered craft. 

"I  don't  understand  what  she  means,"  said  Sylvia,  in 
a  whisper.     "Do  ask  her  to  explain,  Anna!" 

"My  friend  asks  you  to  drop  metaphor,"  said  the  older 
woman,  drily. 

The  soothsayer  fixed  her  bright,  beady  little  eyes  on 
Sylvia's  flushed  face. 

"Well,"  she  said  deliberately,  "I  see  you  falhng  in  love, 
and  I  also  see  that  falling  in  love  is  quite  a  new  experi- 
ence. It  burns,  it  scorches  you,  does  love,  Madame. 
And  for  awhile  you  do  not  know  what  it  means,  for  love 
has  never  yet  touched  you  with  his  red-hot  finger." 

"How  absurd!"  thought  Sylvia  to  herself.  "She  ac- 
tually takes  me  for  a  young  girl!  What  ridiculous  mis- 
takes fortune-tellers  do  make,  to  be  sure!" 

" But  you  cannot  escape  love,"  went  on  Madame 


16  THE   CHIXK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

Cagliostra,  eagerly.  "Your  fate  is  a  fair  man,  which  is 
strange  considering  that  you  also  are  a  fair  woman;  and 
I  see  that  there  is  already  a  dark  man  in  your  life." 

Sylvia  blushed.  Bill  Chester,  just  now  the  only  man 
in  her  life,  was  a  very  dark  man. 

"  But  this  fair  man  knows  all  the  arts  of  love."  Mad- 
ame Cagliostra  sighed,  her  voice  softened,  it  became 
strangely  low  and  sweet.  "He  will  love  you  tenderly  as 
well  as  passionately.  And  as  for  you,  Madame — but  no, 
for  me  to  tell  you  what  you  will  feel  and  what  you  will  do 
would  not  be  delicate  on  my  part!" 

Sylvia  grew  redder  and  redder.  She  tried  to  laugh, 
but  failed.     She  felt  angry,  and  not  a  little  disgusted. 

"You  are  a  foreigner,"  vrent  on  Madame  Cagliostra. 
Her  voice  had  grown  hard  and  expressionless  again. 

Sylvia  smiled  a  little  satiric  smile. 

"But  though  you  are  a  foreigner,"  cried  the  fortune- 
teller with  sudden  energy,  "it  is  quite  possible  that  you 
will  never  go  back  to  your  own  country!  Stop — or,  per- 
haps, I  shall  say  too  much !  Still  if  you  ever  do  go  back, 
it  will  be  as  a  stranger.  That  I  say  with  certainty.  And 
I  add  that  I  hope  with  all  my  heart  that  you  will  live  to 
go  back  to  your  own  country,  Madame!" 

Sylvia  felt  a  vague,  uneasy  feeling  of  oppression,  almost 
of  fear,  steal  over  her.  It  seemed  to  her  that  Madame 
Cagliostra  was  looking  at  her  with  puzzled,  pitjnng  eyes. 

The  soothsayer  again  put  a  fat  and  not  too  clean  finger 
down  on  the  upturned  face  of  a  card. 

"There  is  something  here  I  do  not  understand;  some- 
thing which  I  miss  when  I  look  at  you  as  I  am  now  look- 
ing at  you.     It  is  something  you  always  wear "     • 


THE   CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR  17 

She  gazed  searchingly  at  Sylvia,  and  her  eyes  travelled 
over  Mrs.  Bailey's  neck  and  bosom. 

"I  see  them  and  yet  they  are  not  there  I  They  ap- 
pear like  little  balls  of  light.     Surely  it  is  a  necklace?" 

Sylvia  looked  extremely  surprised.  Now,  at  last, 
Madame  Cagliostra  was  justifying  her  claim  to  a  super- 
natural gift! 

"These  balls  of  light  are  also  your  Fate!"  exclaimed 
the  woman  impetuously.  "If  you  had  them  here — I 
care  not  what  they  be— I  should  entreat  you  to  give 
them  to  me  to  throw  away." 

Madame  Wolsky  began  to  laugh.  "I  don't  think  you 
would  do  that,"  she  observed  drily. 

But  Madame  Cagliostra  did  not  seem  to  hear  the  inter- 
ruption. 

"Have  you  heard  of  a  mascot?"  she  said  abruptly. 
"Of  a  mascot  which  brings  good  fortune  to  its  wearer?'* 

Sylvia  bent  her  head.  Of  course  she  had  heard  of 
mascots. 

"Well,  if  so,  you  have,  of  course,  heard  of  objects 
which  bring  misfortune  to  their  wearers — which  are,  so 
to  speak,  unlucky  mascots?" 

And  this  time  it  was  Anna  Wolsky  who,  leaning  for- 
ward, nodded  gravely.  She  attributed  a  run  of  bad  luck 
she  had  had  the  year  before  to  a  trifling  gift,  twin  cherries 
made  of  enamel,  which  a  friend  had  given  her,  in  her  old 
home,  on  her  birthday.  Till  she  had  thrown  that  little 
brooch  into  the  sea,  she  had  been  persistently  unlucky 
at  play. 

"Your  friend,"  murmured  Madame  Cagliostra,  now  ad- 
dressing herself  to  Anna  and  not  to  Sylvia,  "should  dis- 


18  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

possess  herself  as  quickly  as  possible  of  her  necklace,  of 
these  round  balls.  They  have  already  brought  her  ill- 
fortune  in  the  past,  they  have  lowered  her  in  the  esti- 
mation of  an  estimable  person — in  fact,  if  she  is  not 
very  careful,  indeed,  even  if  she  be  very  careful — it 
looks  to  me,  Madame,  as  if  they  would  end  by  stran- 
gling her!" 

Sylvia  became  very  uncomfortable.  "Of  course  she 
means  my  pearls,"  she  whispered.  "But  how  absurd  to 
say  they  could  ever  do  me  harm." 

"Look  here,"  said  Anna  Wolsky  earnestly,  "you  are 
quite  right,  Madame;  m}'  friend  has  a  necklace  which 
has  already  played  a  certain  part  in  her  life.  But  is  it 
not  just  because  of  this  fact  that  you  feel  the  influence 
of  this  necklace  so  strongly?  I  entreat  you  to  speak 
frankly.     You  are  really  distressing  me  very  much!" 

]Madame  Cagliostra  looked  very  seriously  at  the 
speaker. 

"Well,  perhaps  it  is  so,"  she  said  at  last.  "Of  course, 
we  are  sometimes  wrong  in  our  premonitions.  And  I 
confess  that  I  feel  puzzled — exceedingly  puzzled — to-day. 
I  do  not  know  that  I  have  ever  had  so  strange  a  case  as 
that  of  this  English  lady  before  me !  I  see  so  many  roads 
stretching  before  her — I  also  see  her  going  along  more 
than  one  road.  As  a  rule,  one  does  not  see  this  in  the 
cards." 

She  looked  really  harassed,  really  distressed,  and  was 
still  conning  her  cards  anxiously. 

"And  yet  after  all,"  she  cried  suddenly,  "I  may  be 
wrong!  Perhaps  the  necklace  has  less  to  do  with  it  than 
I  thought!    I  do  not  know  whether  the  necklace  would 


THE  CHIXK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         19 

make  any  real  diJEference!  If  she  takes  one  of  the  roads 
open  to  her,  then  I  see  no  danger  at  all  attaching  to  the 
preservation  of  this  necklace.  But  the  other  road  leads 
straight  to  the  House  of  Peril." 

"The  House  of  Teril?"  echoed  Sylvia  Bailey. 

"Yes,  iMadame.  Do  you  not  know  that  all  men  and 
women  have  their  House  of  Peril — the  house  whose  thresh- 
old they  should  never  cross — behind  whose  door  lies 
misery,  sometimes  dishonour?" 

"Yes,"  said  Anna  Wolsky,  "that  is  true,  quite  true! 
There  has  been,  alas!  more  than  one  House  of  Peril  in 
my  life."  She  added,  "But  what  kind  of  place  is  my 
friend's  House  of  Peril?" 

"It  is  not  a  large  house,"  said  the  fortune-teller,  star- 
ing down  at  the  shining  surface  of  her  table.  "It  is  a 
gay,  delightful  little  place,  ladies — quite  my  idea  of  a 
pretty  dwelling.  But  it  is  filled  with  horror  unutterable 
to  Madame.  Ah!  I  entreat  you" — she  stared  sadly  at 
Sylvia — "to  beware  of  unknown  buildings,  especially  if 
you  persist  in  keeping  and  in  wearing  your  necklace." 

"Do  tell  us,  Madame,  something  more  about  my 
friend's  necklace.  Is  it,  for  instance,  of  great  value,  and 
is  it  its  value  that  makes  it  a  source  of  danger?" 

Anna  Wolsky  wondered  very  much  what  would  be  the 
answer  to  this  question.  She  had  had  her  doubts  as  to 
the  genuineness  of  the  pearls  her  friend  wore.  Pearls 
are  so  exquisitely  imitated  nowadays,  and  these  pearls, 
if  genuine,  were  of  such  great  value  1 

At  first  she  had  not  believed  them  to  be  real,  then 
gradually  she  had  become  convinced  of  Sylvia's  good 
faith.    If  the  pearls  were  false,  Sylvia  did  not  know  it. 


20  THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

But  Madame  Cagliostra's  answer  was  disappointing— 
or  prudent. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  that,"  she  said.  "  I  cannot  even  tell 
you  of  what  the  necklace  is  composed.  It  may  be  of 
gold,  of  silver,  of  diamomds,  of  pearls — it  may  be,  I'm 
inclined  to  think  it  is,  composed  of  Egyptian  scarabei. 
They,  as  you  know,  often  bring  terrible  ill-fortune  in 
their  train,  especially  when  they  have  been  taken  from 
the  bodies  of  mummies.  But  the  necklace  has  already 
caused  this  lady  to  quarrel  with  a  very  good  and  sure 
friend  of  hers — of  that  I  am  sure.  And,  as  I  tell  you,  I 
see  in  the  future  that  this  necklace  may  cause  her  very 
serious  trouble — indeed,  I  see  it  wound  like  a  serpent 
round  her  neck,  pressing  ever  tighter  and  tighter " 

She  suddenly  began  shuffling  the  cards.  "And  now," 
she  said  in  a  tone  of  relief,  "  I  will  deal  with  you,  Madame/* 
and  she  turned  to  Anna  with  a  smile. 

Sylvia  drew  her  chair  a  little  away  from  the  table. 

She  felt  depressed  and  uncomfortable.  What  an  odd 
queer  kind  of  fortune  had  been  told  her!  And  then  it 
had  all  been  so  muddled.  She  could  scarcely  remember 
what  it  was  that  had  been  told  her. 

Two  things,  however,  remained  very  clear  in  her  mind: 
The  one  was  the  absurd  prediction  that  she  might  never 
go  back  to  her  own  country;  the  second  was  all  that 
extraordinary  talk  about  her  pearls.  As  to  the  promised 
lover,  the  memory  of  the  soothsayer's  words  made  her 
feel  very  angry.  No  doubt  Frenchwomen  liked  that  sort 
of  innuendo,  but  it  only  disgusted  her. 

Yet  it  was  really  very  strange  that  Madame  Cagliostra 
had  known,  or  rather  had  divined,  that  she  possessed  a 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         21 

necklace  by  which  she  laid  great  store.  But  wasn't  there 
such  a  thing  as  telepathy?  Isn't  it  supposed  by  some 
people  that  fortune-tellers  simply  see  into  the  minds  of 
those  who  come  to  them,  and  then  arrange  what  they 
see  there  according  to  their  fancy? 

That,  of  course,  would  entirely  account  for  all  that  the 
fortune-teller  had  said  about  her  pearls. 

Sylvia  always  felt  a  little  uncomfortable  when  her 
pearls  were  not  lying  round  her  pretty  neck.  The  first 
time  she  had  left  them  in  the  hotel  bureau,  at  her  new 
friend's  request,  was  when  they  had  been  together  to 
some  place  of  amusement  at  night,  and  she  had  felt  quite 
miserable,  quite  lost  without  them.  She  had  even  caught 
herself  wondering  whether  M.  Girard  was  perfectly  honest, 
whether  she  could  trust  him  not  to  have  her  dear  pearls 
changed  by  some  clever  jeweller,  though,  to  be  sure,  she 
felt  she  would  have  known  her  string  of  pearls  anywhere! 

But  what  was  this  that  was  going  on  between  the  other 
two? 

Madame  Cagliostra  dealt  out  the  pack  of  cards  in  a 
slow,  deliberate  fashion — and  then  she  uttered  a  kind 
of  low  hoarse  cry,  and  mixed  the  cards  all  together, 
hurriedly. 

Getting  up  from  the  table,  she  exclaimed,  "I  regret, 
Madame,  that  I  can  tell  you  nothing — nothing  at  all!  I 
feel  ill — very  ill!"  and,  indeed,  she  had  turned,  even  to 
Sylvia's  young  and  unobservant  eyes,  terribly  pale. 

For  some  moments  the  soothsayer  stood  staring  into 
Anna  Wolsky's  astonished  face. 

"I  know  I've  disappointed  you,  Mesdames,  but  I  hope 


22  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

this  will  not  prevent  your  telling  your  friends  of  my 
powers.  Allow  me  to  assure  you  that  it  is  not  often  that 
I  am  taken  in  this  way  I" 

Her  voice  had  dropped  to  a  whisper.  She  was  now 
gazing  down  at  the  pack  of  cards  which  lay  on  the  table 
with  a  look  of  horror  and  oppression  on  her  face. 

"I  will  only  charge  five  francs,"  she  muttered  at  last, 
"for  I  know  that  I  have  not  satisfied  you." 

Sylvia  sprang  to  the  window.  She  tore  apart  the  cur- 
tains and  pulled  up  the  sash. 

"No  wonder  the  poor  woman  feels  faint,"  she  said 
quickly.  "It's  absurd  to  sit  with  a  window  tight  shut 
in  this  kind  of  room,  which  is  little  more  than  a  box  with 
three  people  in  it  I" 

^Madame  Cagliostra  had  sunk  dovra  into  her  chair 
again. 

"I  must  beg  you  to  go  away,  Mesdames,"  she  mut- 
tered, faintly.     "Five  francs  is  all  I  ask  of  you." 

But  Anna  Wolsky  was  behaving  in  what  appeared  to 
Sylvia  a  very  strange  manner.  She  walked  round  to 
W'here  the  fortune-teller  was  sitting. 

"You  saw  something  in  the  cards  which  you  do  not 
wash  to  tell  me?"  she  said  imperiously.  "I  do  not  mind 
being  told  the  truth.     I  am  not  a  child." 

"I  swear  I  saw  nothing!"  cried  the  Frenchwoman 
angrily.  "I  am  too  ill  to  see  anything.  The  cards  were 
to  me  perfectly  blank!" 

In  the  bright  sunlight  now  pouring  into  the  little  room 
the  soothsayer  looked  ghastly,  her  skin  had  turned  a 
greenish  white. 

"Mesdames,  I  beg  you  to  excuse  me,"  she  said  again. 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  23 

"  If  you  do  not  wish  to  give  me  the  five  francs,  I  will  not 
exact  any  fee." 

She  pointed  with  a  shaking  finger  to  the  door,  and 
Sylvia  put  a  five-franc  piece  down  on  the  table. 

But  before  her  visitors  had  quite  groped  their  way  to 
the  end  of  the  short,  steep  staircase,  they  heard  a  cry. 

"Mesdames!"  then  after  a  moment's  pause,  "Mes- 
dames,  I  implore  you  to  come  back!" 

They  looked  at  one  another,  and  then  Anna,  putting 
her  finger  to  her  lips,  went  back  up  the  stairs,  alone. 

"Well,"  she  said,  briefly,  "I  knew  you  had  something 
to  tell  me.     What  is  it?" 

"No,"  said  Madame  Cagliostra  dully.  "I  must  have 
the  other  lady  here,  too.  You  must  both  be  present  to 
hear  what  I  have  to  say." 

Anna  went  to  the  door  and  called  out,  "Come  up 
Sylvia!    She  wants  to  see  us  both  together." 

There  was  a  thrill  of  excitement,  of  eager  expectancy 
in  Madame  Wolsky's  voice;  and  Sylvia,  surprised,  ran 
up  again  into  the  little  room,  now  full  of  light,  sun,  and 
air. 

"Stand  side  by  side,"  ordered  the  soothsayer  shortly. 
She  stared  at  them  for  a  moment,  and  then  she  said  with 
extreme  earnestness: — 

"I  dare  not  let  you  go  away  without  giving  you  a 
warning.  Your  two  fates  are  closely  intertwined.  Do 
not  leave  Paris  for  awhile,  especially  do  not  leave  Paris 
together.  I  see  you  both  running  into  terrible  danger! 
If  you  do  go  away — and  I  greatly  fear  that  you  will  do 
so — then  I  advise  you,  together  and  separately,  to  return 
to  Paris  as  soon  as  possible." 
I    "One  question  I  must  ask  of  you,"  said  Anna  Wolsky 


24  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

urgently.  "How  goes  my  luck?  You  know  what  I 
mean?     I  play!" 

"It  is  not  your  luck  that  is  threatened,"  replied  the 
fortune-teller,  solemnly;  "on  the  contrary,  I  see  wonder- 
ful luck;  packets  of  bank-notes  and  rouleaux  of  gold! 
It  is  not  your  luck — it  is  something  far,  far  more  im- 
portant that  is  in  peril.  Something  which  means  far  more 
to  you  even  than  your  luck!" 

The  Polish  woman  smiled  rather  sadly. 

"I  wonder  what  that  can  be?"  she  exclaimed. 

"It  is  your  life!" 

"My  life?"  echoed  Anna.  "I  do  not  know  that  I 
value  my  life  as  much  as  you  think  I  do." 

"The  English  have  a  proverb,  Madame,  which  says: 
*A  short  life  and  a  merry  one.'  " 

"  Can  you  predict  that  I  shall  have,  if  a  short  life,  then 
a  merry  one?" 

"Yes,"  said  Madame  Cagliostra,  "that  I  can  promise 
you."  But  there  was  no  smile  on  her  pale  face.  "And 
more,  I  can  predict — if  you  will  only  follow  my  advice, 
if  you  do  not  leave  Paris  for,  say" — she  hesitated  a  mo- 
ment, as  if  making  a  silent  calculation — "twelve  weeks, 
I  can  predict  you,  if  not  so  happy  a  life,  then  a  long  life 
and  a  fairly  merry  one.  Will  you  take  my  advice,  Mad- 
ame?" she  went  on,  almost  threateningly.  "Believe  me, 
I  do  not  often  offer  advice  to  my  clients.  It  is  not  my 
business  to  do  so.  But  I  should  have  been  a  wicked 
woman  had  I  not  done  so  this  time.  That  is  why  I 
called  you  back." 

"Is  it  because  of  something  you  have  seen  in  the 
cards  that  you  tender  us  this  advice?"  asked  Anna 
curiously. 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         25 

But  Madame  Cagliostra  again  looked  strangely  fright- 
ened. 

**No,  no!"  she  said  hastily.  "I  repeat  that  the  cards 
told  me  nothing.  The  cards  were  a  blank.  I  could  see 
nothing  in  them.  But,  of  course,  we  do  not  only  tell 
fortunes  by  cards" — she  spoke  very  quickly  and  rather 
confusedly.     "There  is  such  a  thing  as  a  premonition." 

She  waited  a  moment,  and  then,  in  a  business-like 
tone,  added,  "And  now  I  leave  the  question  of  the  fee 
to  the  generosit}'^  of  these  ladies!" 

Madame  Wolsky  smiled  a  little  grimly,  and  pulled  out 
a  twenty-franc  piece. 

The  woman  bowed,  and  murmured  her  thanks. 

When  they  were  out  again  into  the  roughly  paved 
little  street,  Anna  suddenly  began  to  laugh. 

"  Now,  isn't  that  a  typical  Frenchwoman?  She  really 
did  feel  ill,  she  really  saw  nothing  in  my  cards,  and, 
being  an  honest  woman,  she  did  not  feel  that  she  could 
ask  us  to  pay!  Then,  when  we  had  gone  away,  leaving 
only  five  francs,  her  thrift  got  the  better  of  her  honesty; 
she  felt  she  had  thrown  away  ten  good  francs!  She 
therefore  called  us  back,  and  gave  us  what  she  took  to 
be  very  excellent  advice.  You  see,  I  had  told  her  that 
I  am  a  gambler.  She  knows,  as  we  all  know,  that  to 
play  for  money  is  a  foolish  thing  to  do.  She  is  aware 
that  in  Paris  it  is  not  very  easy  for  a  stranger  to  obtain 
admittance — especially  if  that  stranger  be  a  respectable 
woman — to  a  gambling  club.  She  therefore  said  to  her- 
self, *I  will  give  this  lady  far  more  than  ten  francs'  worth 
of  advice.  I  will  tell  her  not  to  go  away!  As  long  as 
she  remains  in  Paris  she  cannot  lose  her  money.  If  she 
goes  to  Dieppe,  Trouville,  any  place  where  there  is  a 


26  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUH 

Casino,  she  will  lose  her  money.  Therefore  I  am  giving 
her  invaluable  advice — worth  far  more  than  the  ten  francs 
which  she  ought  to  be  made  to  give  me,  and  which  she 
shall  be  made  to  give  me!'" 

"I  suppose  you  are  right,"  said  Sylvia  thoughtfully. 
"And  yet — and  yet — she  certainly  spoke  very  seriously, 
did  she  not,  Anna?  She  seemed  quite  honestly — in  fact, 
terribly  afraid  that  we  should  go  away  together." 

"But  there  is  no  idea  of  our  going  away  together," 
said  Madame  Wolsky,  rather  crossly.  "I  only  wish 
there  were!  You  are  going  on  to  Switzerland  to  join 
your  friends,  and  as  for  me,  m  spite  of  Madame  Cagli- 
ostra's  mysterious  predictions,  I  shall,  of  course,  go  to 
some  place — I  think  it  will  be  Dieppe  (I  like  the  Dieppe 
Casino  the  best) — where  I  can  pla}'.  And  the  memory 
of  you,  my  dear  little  English  friend,  will  be  my  mascot. 
You  heard  her  say  that  I  should  be  fortunate — that  I 
should  have  an  extraordinary  run  of  good  fortune?" 

"Yes,"  said  Sylvia,  "but  do  not  forget" — she  spoke 
with  a  certain  gravity;  death  was  a  very  real  thing  to 
her,  for  she  had  seen  in  the  last  two  years  two  death- 
beds, that  of  her  father,  that  of  her  husband — "do  not 
forget,  Anna,  that  she  told  you  you  would  not  live  lung 
if  you  went  away." 

"She  was  quite  safe  in  saying  that  to  me,"  replied  the 
other  hastily.  "People  who  play — those  who  get  the 
gambling  fever  into  their  system  when  they  are  still 
young — do  not,  as  a  rule,  live  very  long.  Their  emotions 
are  too  strong,  too  often  excited!  Play  should  be 
reserved  for  the  old — the  old  get  so  quickly  deadened, 
they  do  not  go  through  the  terrible  moments  younger 
people  do!" 


CHAPTER  III 

On  the  morning  after  her  visit  to  Madame  Cagliostra, 
Sylvia  Bailey  woke  later  than  usual.  She  had  had  a 
disturbed  night,  and  it  was  pleasant  to  feel  that  she  could 
spend  a  long  restful  day  doing  nothing,  or  only  taking 
part  in  one  of  the  gay  little  expeditions  which  make  Paris 
to  a  stranger  the  most  delightful  of  European  capitals. 

She  opened  wide  both  the  windows  of  her  room,  and 
from  outside  there  floated  in  a  busy,  happy  murmur,  for 
Paris  is  an  early  city,  and  nine  o'clock  there  is  equivalent 
to  eleven  o'clock  in  London. 

She  heard  the  picturesque  street  cries  of  the  flower- 
sellers  in  the  Avenue  de  I'Opera — "Beflower  yourselves, 
gentlemen  and  ladies,  beflower  yourselves!" 

The  gay,  shrill  sounds  floated  in  to  her,  and,  in  spite 
of  her  bad  night  and  ugly  dreams,  she  felt  extraordinarily 
well  and  happy. 

Cities  are  like  people.  In  some  cities  one  feels  at 
home  at  once;  others  remain,  however  well  acquainted 
we  become  with  them,  always  strangers. 

Sylvia  Bailey,  born,  bred,  married,  widowed  in  an 
English  provincial  town,  had  always  felt  strange  in 
London.  But  with  Paris, — dear,  delightful,  sunny  Paris, 
— she  had  become  on  the  closest,  the  most  affectionately 
intimate  terms  from  the  first  day.  She  had  only  been 
here  a  month,  and  yet  she  already  knew  with  familiar 
knowledge  the  quarter  in  which  was  situated  her  quiet 
little  hotel,  that  wonderful  square  mile — it  is  not  more — 


28         THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

which  has  as  its  centre  the  Paris  Opera  House,  and 
which  includes  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  and  the  beginning  of 
each  of  the  great  arteries  of  modern  Paris. 

And  that  was  not  all.  Sylvia  Bailey  knew  something 
of  the  France  of  the  past.  The  quiet,  clever,  old-fashioned 
Frenchwoman  by  whom  she  had  been  educated  had  seen 
to  that.  She  could  wander  through  the  narrow  streets 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Seine,  and  reconstitute  the  ama- 
zing, moving,  tragic  things  which  happened  there  during 
the  great  Revolution. 

She  was  now  half  sorry  to  think  that  in  ten  days  or  so 
she  had  promised  to  join  some  acquaintances  in  Switzer- 
land. Luckily  her  trustee  and  would-be  lover.  Bill 
Chester,  proposed  to  come  out  and  join  the  party  there. 
That  was  something  to  look  forward  to,  for  Sylvia  was 
very  fond  of  him,  though  he  sometimes  made  her  angry 
by  his  fussy  ways.  Chester  had  not  approved  of  her 
going  to  Paris  by  herself,  and  he  would  certainly  have 
shaken  his  head  had  he  known  of  yesterday's  visit  to 
Madame  Cagliostra. 

And  then  Sylvia  Bailey  began  to  think  of  her  new 
friend:  of  Anna  Wolsky.  She  was  sorry,  very  sorry, 
that  they  were  going  to  part  so  soon.  If  only  Anna 
would  consent  to  come  on  with  her  to  Switzerland!  But 
alas !  there  was  no  chance  of  that,  for  there  are  no  Casinos, 
no  gambling,  in  the  land  of  William  Tell. 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Madame  Wolsky 
walked  in.    She  was  dressed  for  a  journey. 

"  I  have  to  go  out  of  town  this  morning,"  she  said,  "but 
the  place  I  am  going  to  is  quite  near,  and  I  shall  be  back 
this  afternoon." 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR  29 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  Sylvia,  naively.  "Or 
is  it  a  secret?" 

"No,  it  is  not  a  secret."  Anna  smiled  provokingly. 
"I  am  going  to  go  to  a  place  called  Lacville.  I  do  not 
suppose  you  have  ever  heard  of  Lacville,  Sylvia?  " 

The  other  shook  her  head. 

"I  thought  not,"  cried  Anna,  suddenly  bursting  out 
laughing.  Then,  "Good-bye!"  she  exclaimed,  and  she 
was  gone  before  Sylvia  could  say  anything  else. 

Lacville?  There  had  been  a  sparkle,  a  look  of  life,  of 
energy  in  Anna's  face.  Why  was  Anna  Wolsky  going 
to  Lacville?  There  was  something  about  the  place  con- 
cerning which  she  had  chosen  to  be  mysterious,  and  yet 
she  had  made  no  secret  of  going  there. 

Mrs.  Bailey  jumped  out  of  bed,  and  dressed  rather 
more  quickly  than  usual. 

It  was  a  very  hot  day.  In  fact,  it  was  unpleasantly 
hot.  How  delightful  it  would  be  to  get  into  the  country 
even  for  an  hour.  Wliy  should  she  not  also  make  her 
way  to  Lacville? 

She  opened  the  "  Guide-Book  to  Paris  and  its  Environs," 
of  which  she  had  made  such  good  use  in  the  last  month, 
and  looked  up  "Lacville"  in  the  index. 

Situated  within  a  drive  of  the  beautiful  Forest  of  Montmorency, 
the  pretty  little  town  of  Lacville  is  still  famed  for  its  healing  springs 
and  during  the  summer  months  of  the  year  is  much  frequented  by 
Parisians.     There  are  frequent  trains  from  the  Gare  du  Nord. 

No  kind  fairy  whispered  the  truth  to  Sylvia — namely 
that  this  account  is  only  half,  nay,  a  quarter,  or  an 
eighth,  of  the  truth. 


30  THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR 

Lacville  is  the  spendthrift,  the  gambler — the  austere 
would  call  her  the  chartered  libertine — of  the  group  of 
pretty  country  towns  which  encircle  Paris;  for  Lacville 
is  in  the  proud  possession  of  a  Gambling  Concession 
which  has  gradually  turned  what  was  once  the  quiet- 
est of  inland  watering-places  into  a  miniature  Monte 
Carlo, 

The  vast  majority  of  intelligent,  cultivated  English 
and  American  visitors  to  Paris  remain  quite  unaware 
that  there  is,  within  half  an  hour  of  the  French  capital, 
such  a  spot;  the  minority,  those  tourists  who  do  make 
their  way  to  the  alluring  little  place,  generally  live  to 
regret  it. 

But  Sylvia  knew  nothing,  naj',  less  than  nothing,  of 
all  this,  and  even  if  she  had  known,  it  would  not  have 
stayed  her  steps  to-day. 

She  put  on  her  hat  and  hurried  down  to  the  office. 
There  M.  Girard  would  doubtless  tell  her  of  a  good  train 
to  Lacville,  and  if  it  were  a  small  place  she  might  easily 
run  across  Anna  Wolsky. 

M.  Girard  was  a  very  busy  man,  yet  he  always  found 
time  for  a  talk  with  any  foreign  client  of  his  hotel. 

"I  want  to  know,"  said  Sylvia,  smiling  in  spite  of  her- 
self, for  the  hotel-keeper  was  such  a  merry-looking  little 
man,  and  so  utterly  different  from  any  English  hotel- 
keeper  she  had  ever  seen ! — "  I  want  to  know,  M.  Girard, 
which  is  the  best  way  to  a  place  called  Lacville?  Have 
you  ever  been  there?" 

"Lacville?"  echoed  M.  Girard  delightedly;  but  there 
came  a  rather  funny  look  over  his  shrewd,  round  face. 
"Yes,  indeed,  I  have  been  there,  Madame!     Not  this 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         31 

season  yet,  but  often  last  summer,  and  I  shall  be  going 
there  shortly  agaui.  I  have  a  friend  there — indeed,  he 
is  more  than  a  friend,  he  is  a  relation  of  mine,  who  keeps 
the  most  select  hotel  at  Lacville.  It  is  called  the  Villa 
du  Lac.  Is  Madame  thinking  of  going  to  Lacville  in- 
stead of  to  Switzerland?" 

Sylvia  shook  her  head.  "Oh,  no!  But  Madame  Wol- 
sky  is  there  to-day,  and  I  should  have  gone  with  her  if  I 
had  been  ready  when  she  came  down.  It  has  turned  so 
hot  that  I  feel  a  few  hours  in  the  country  would  be 
pleasant,  and  I  am  quite  likely  to  meet  her,  for  I  suppose 
Lacville  is  not  a  very  large  place,  INI.  Girard?" 

The  hotel-keeper  hesitated;  he  found  it  really  difficult 
to  give  a  true  answer  to  this  simple  question. 

"Lacville?"  he  repeated;  "w^ell — Dame!  Lacville  is 
Lacville!  It  is  not  like  anything  Madame  has  ever  seen. 
On  that  I  would  lay  my  hfe.  First,  there  is  a  most  beau- 
tiful lake — that  is,  perhaps,  the  principal  attraction; — 
then  the  villas  of  Lacville — ah!  they  are  ravishingly 
lovely,  and  then  there  is  also" — he  fixed  his  black  eyes 
on  her — "a  Casino." 

"A  Casino?"  echoed  Sylvia.  She  scarcely  knew  what 
a  Casino  was. 

"But  to  see  the  Casino  properly  Madame  must  go  at 
night,  and  it  would  be  well  if  Madame  were  accompanied 
by  a  gentleman,  I  do  not  think  Madame  should  go  by 
herself,  but  if  Madame  really  desires  to  see  Lacville 
properly  my  wife  and  I  will  make  a  great  pleasure  to 
ourselves  to  accompany  her  there  one  Sunday  night.  It 
is  very  gay,  is  Lacville  on  Sunday  night — or,  perhaps," 
added   M.   Girard   quickly,   "Madame,   being   English, 


32  THE   CmXK   IX  THE   ARMOUR 

would  prefer  a  Saturday  night?     Lacville  is  also  very 
gay  on  Saturday  nights." 

"But  is  there  anything  going  on  there  at  night?" 
asked  Sylvia,  astonished.  "I  thought  Lacville  was  a 
country  place." 

"There  are  a  hundred  and  twenty  trains  daily  from 
the  Gare  du  Xord  to  Lacville,"  said  the  hotel-keeper 
drily.  "  A  great  many  Parisians  spend  the  evening  there 
each  day.  They  do  not  start  till  nine  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  and  they  are  back,  having  spent  a  very  pleasant, 
or  sometimes  an  unpleasant,  soiree,  before  midnight." 

"A  hundred  and  twenty  trains!"  repeated  Sylvia, 
amazed.  "But  why  do  so  many  people  want  to  go  to 
Lacville?" 

Again  the  hotel-keeper  stared  at  her  with  a  question- 
ing look.  Was  it  possible  that  pretty  Madame  Bailey 
did  not  know  what  was  the  real  attraction  of  Lacville? 
Yet  it  was  not  his  business  to  run  the  place  down — as  a 
matter  of  fact,  he  and  his  wife  had  invested  nearly  a 
thousand  pounds  of  their  hard-earned  savings  in  their 
relation's  hotel,  the  Villa  du  Lac.  If  Madame  Bailey 
really  wanted  to  leave  salubrious,  beautiful  Paris  for  the 
summer,  why  should  she  not  go  to  Lacville  instead  of  to 
dull,  puritanical,  stupid  Switzerland? 

These  thoughts  rushed  through  the  active  brain  of  M. 
Girard  with  amazing  quickness. 

"]\L'iny  people  go  to  Lacville  in  order  to  play  baccarat," 
he  said  lightly. 

And  then  Sylvia  knew  why  Anna  Wolsky  had  gone  to 
Lacville. 

"  But  apart  from  the  play,  Lacville  is  a  little  paradise, 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         33 

Madame,"  he  went  on  enthusiastically.  "It  is  a  beau- 
teous spot,  just  hke  a  scene  in  an  opera.  There  is  the 
romantic  lake,  edged  with  high,  shady  trees  and  princely 
villas — and  then  the  gay,  the  delightful  Casino!" 

"And  is  there  a  train  soon?" 

*'I  will  look  Madame  out  a  train  this  moment,  and  I 
will  also  give  her  one  of  my  cousin  Polperro's  cards. 
Madame  has,  of  course,  heard  of  the  Empress  Eugenie? 
Well,  the  Villa  du  Lac  once  belonged  to  one  of  the  Em- 
press's gentlemen-in-waiting.  The  very  highest  nobility 
stay  at  the  Villa  du  Lac  with  my  cousin.  At  this  very 
moment  he  has  Count  Paul  de  Virieu,  the  brother-in-law 
of  a  duke,  among  his  clients " 

M.  Girard  had  noticed  the  British  fondness  for  titles. 

"  You  see,  Madame,  my  cousin  was  chef  to  the  Emperor 
of  Brazil's  sister — this  has  given  him  a  connection  among 
the  nobility.  In  the  winter  he  has  an  hotel  at  Mentone," 
he  was  looking  up  the  train  while  he  chatted  happily. 

"There  is  a  train  every  ten  minutes,"  he  said  at  last, 
"from  the  Gare  du  Nord.  Or,  if  Madame  prefers  it,  she 
could  walk  up  from  here  to  the  Square  of  the  Trinite 
and  take  the  tramway;  but  it  is  quicker  and  pleasanter 
to  go  by  train — unless,  indeed,  Madame  wishes  to  offer 
herself  the  luxury  of  an  automobile.  That,  alas!  I  fear 
would  cost  Madame  twenty  to  thirty  francs." 

"Of  course  I  will  go  by  train,"  said  Sjdvia,  smiling, 
"and  I  will  lunch  at  your  cousin's  hotel,  M.  Girard." 

It  would  be  quite  easy  to  find  Anna,  or  so  she  thought, 
for  Anna  would  be  at  the  Casino.  Sylvia  felt  painfully 
interested  in  her  friend's  love  of  gambling.  It  was  so 
strange  that  Anna  was  not  ashamed  of  it. 


34  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

And  then  as  she  drove  to  the  great  railway  terminus, 
from  which  a  hundred  and  twenty  trains  start  daily  for 
Lacville,  it  seemed  to  Sylvia  that  the  whole  of  Paris  was 
placarded  with  the  name  of  the  place  she  was  now  about 
to  visit  for  the  first  time! 

On  every  hoarding,  on  every  bare  piece  of  wall,  were 
spread  large,  flamboyant  posters  showing  a  garish  but 
not  unattractive  landscape.  There  was  the  sun  spark- 
ling on  a  wide  stretch  of  water  edged  with  high  trees,  and 
gay  with  little  sailing  boats,  each  boat  with  its  human 
freight  of  two  lovers.  Jutting  out  into  the  blue  lake  was 
a  great  white  building,  w^hich  Sylvia  realised  must  be  the 
Casino.  And  under  each  picture  ran  the  words  "  Lacville- 
les-Bains"  printed  in  very  black  letters. 

When  she  got  to  the  Gare  du  Nord  the  same  adver- 
tisement stared  do\Mi  at  her  from  the  walls  of  the  station 
and  of  the  waiting-rooms. 

It  was  certainly  odd  that  she  had  never  heard  of  Lac- 
ville, and  that  the  place  had  never  been  mentioned  to  her 
by  any  of  those  of  her  English  acquaintances  who  thought 
they  knew  Paris  so  well. 

The  Lacville  train  was  full  of  happy,  chattering  people. 
In  her  first-class  carriage  she  had  five  fellow-travellers — 
a  man  and  woman  and  three  children.  They  looked 
cheerful,  prosperous  people,  and  soon  the  husband  and 
wife  began  talking  eagerly  together. 

"I  really  think,"  said  the  lady  suddenly,  "that  we 
might  have  chosen  some  other  place  than  Lacville  in 
which  to  spend  to-day !  There  are  many  places  the  chil- 
dren would  have  enjoyed  more." 

"But  there  is  no  place,"  said  her  husband  in  a  jovial 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOTJR  35 

tone,  "where  I  can  spend  an  amusing  hour  in  the  after- 
noon." 

"Ah,  my  friend,  I  feared  that  was  coming!"  exclaimed 
his  wife,  shaking  her  head.  "But  remember  what  hap- 
pened the  last  time  we  were  at  Lacville — I  mean  the 
afternoon  when  you  lost  seventy  francs!" 

"But  you  forget  that  other  afternoon!"  answered  the 
man  eagerly.  "I  mean  the  afternoon  when  I  made  a 
hundred  francs,  and  bought  you  and  the  children  a 
number  of  delightful  little  gifts  with  the  money!" 

Sylvia  was  amused.  How  quaint  and  odd  French 
people  were!  She  could  not  imagine  such  an  inter- 
change of  words  between  an  English  husband  and  wife, 
especially  before  a  stranger.  And  then  her  amusement 
was  further  increased,  for  the  youngest  child,  a  boy  of 
about  six,  cried  out  that  he  also  wished  to  go  to  the 
Casino  with  his  dear  papa. 

"No,  no,  my  sweet  cabbage,  that  will  happen  quite 
soon  enough,  when  thou  art  older!  If  thou  art  in  the 
least  like  thy  father,  there  will  certainly  come  a  time 
when  thou  also  wilt  go  and  lose  well-earned  money  at 
the  Tables,"  said  his  mother  tenderly. 

"But  if  I  win,  then  I  shall  buy  thee  a  present,"  said 
the  sweet  cabbage  coaxingly. 

Sylvia  looked  out  of  the  window.  These  happy, 
chattering  people  made  her  feel  lonely,  and  even  a  little 
depressed. 

The  country  through  which  the  train  was  passing  was 
very  flat  and  ugly — in  fact,  it  could  scarcely  be  called 
country  at  all.  And  when  at  last  they  drew  up  into  the 
large  station  of  what  was  once  a  quiet,  remote  village 


ob  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

where  Parisian  invalids,  too  poor  to  go  elsewhere,  cama 
to  take  medicinal  waters,  she  felt  a  pang  of  disappoint- 
ment. Lacville,  as  seen  from  the  railway,  is  an  unattrac- 
tive place. 

"Is  this  Madame's  first  visit  to  Lacville?"  asked  her 
fellow-traveller,  helping  her  out  of  the  railway  carriage. 
"If  so,  INIadame  would  doubtless  like  to  make  her  way 
to  the  lake.     Would  she  care  to  accompany  us  thither?" 

Sylvia  hesitated.  She  almost  felt  inclined  to  go  back 
to  Paris  by  the  next  train.  She  told  herself  that  there 
was  no  hope  of  finding  Anna  in  such  a  large  place,  and 
that  it  was  unlikely  that  this  dreary-looking  town  would 
offer  anything  in  the  least  pleasant  or  amusing  on  a  very 
hot  day. 

But  "It  will  be  enchanting  by  the  lake!"  she  heard 
some  one  say  eagerly.  And  tliis  chance  remark  made 
up  her  mind  for  her.  After  all,  she  might  as  well  go  and 
see  the  lake,  of  which  everyone  who  mentioned  Lacville 
spoke  so  enthusiastically. 

Down  the  whole  party  swept  along  a  narrow  street, 
bordered  by  high  white  houses,  shabby  cafes,  and  little 
shops.  Quite  a  crowd  had  left  the  station,  and  they 
were  all  now  going  the  same  way. 

A  turn  in  the  narrow  street,  and  Sylvia  uttered  alow 
cry  of  pleasure  and  astonishment  I 

Before  her,  like  a  scene  in  a  play  when  the  curtain  is 
rung  up,  there  suddenly  appeared  an  immense  sunlit 
expanse  of  water,  fringed  by  high  trees,  and  bordered  by 
quaint,  pretty  chalets  and  villas,  fantastic  in  shape,  and 
each  surrounded  by  a  garden,  which  in  many  cases  ran 
down  to  the  edge  of  the  lake. 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  37 

To  the  right,  stretching  out  over  the  water,  its  pinnacles 
and  minarets  reflected  in  blue  translucent  depths,  rose 
what  looked  like  a  great  white  marble  palace. 
I  "Is  it  not  lovely V"  said  the  Frenchman  eagerly. 
"And  the  water  of  the  lake  is  so  shallow,  Madame,  there 
is  no  fear  of  anyone  being  drowned  in  it!  That  is  such 
an  advantage  when  one  has  children." 

"And  it  is  a  hundred  times  more  charming  in  the 
afternoon,"  his  wife  chimed  in,  happily,  "for  then  the 
lake  is  so  full  of  little  sailing-boats  that  you  can  hardly 
see  the  water.     Oh,  it  is  gay  then,  very  gay!" 

She  glanced  at  Mrs.  Bailey's  pretty  grey  muslin  dress 
and  elegant  parasol. 

"I  suppose  Madame  is  going  to  one  of  the  great  res- 
taurants? As  for  us,  we  shall  make  our  way  into  a  wood 
and  have  our  luncheon  there.  It  is  expensive  going  to  a 
restaurant  with  children." 

She  nodded  pleasantly,  with  the  easy,  graceful  famil- 
iarity which  foreigners  show  in  their  dealings  with 
strangers;  and,  shepherding  their  little  party  along,  the 
worthy  pair  went  briskly  off  by  the  broad  avenue  which 
girdles  the  lake. 

Again  Sylvia  felt  curiously  alone.  She  was  surrounded 
on  every  side  by  groups  of  merry-looking  people,  and 
already  out  on  the  lake  there  floated  tiny  white-sailed 
boats,  each  containing  a  man  and  a  girl. 

Everyone  seemed  to  have  a  companion  or  companions; 
she  alone  was  solitary.  She  even  found  herself  wonder- 
ing what  she  was  doing  there  in  a  foreign  country,  by  her- 
self, when  she  might  have  been  in  England,  in  her  own 
pleasant  house  at  Market  Dalling! 


38  THE    CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

She  took  out  of  her  bag  the  card  which  the  landlord  of 
the  Hotel  de  I'Horloge  had  pressed  upon  her.  "Hotel 
Pension,  Villa  du  Lac,  Lacville." 

She  went  up  rather  timidly  to  a  respectable-looking 
old  bourgeois  and  his  wife.  "Do  you  know,"  she  asked, 
"where  is  the  Villa  du  Lac?" 

"Certainly,  Madame,"  answered  the  old  man  amiably. 
"It  is  there,  close  to  you,  not  a  hundred  yards  away. 
That  big  white  house  to  our  left."  And  then,  with  that 
love  of  giving  information  which  possesses  so  many 
Frenchman,  he  added: 

"The  Villa  du  Lac  once  belonged  to  the  Marquis  de 
Para,  who  was  gentleman-in-waiting  to  the  Empress 
Eugenie.  He  and  his  family  lived  on  here  long  after  the 
war,  in  fact" — he  lowered  his  voice — "till  the  Conces- 
sion was  granted  to  the  Casino.  You  know  what  I 
mean?  The  Gambling  Concession.  Since  then  the 
world  of  Lacville  has  become  rather  mixed,  as  I  have 
reason  to  know,  for  my  -^-ife  and  I  have  Uved  here  fifteen 
years.  The  Marquis  de  Para  sold  his  charming  villa. 
He  was  driven  away,  like  so  many  other  excellent  people. 
So  the  Villa  du  Lac  is  now  an  hotel,  where  doubtless 
Madame  has  friends?" 

Sylvia  bowed  and  thanked  him.  Yes,  the  Villa  du 
Lac  even  now  looked  like  a  delightful  and  well-kept 
private  house,  rather  than  like  an  hotel.  It  stood  some 
way  back — behind  high  wrought-steel  and  gilt  gates — 
from  the  sandy  road  which  lay  between  it  and  the  lake, 
and  the  stone-paved  courtyard  was  edged  with  a  line  of 
green  tubs,  containing  orange  trees. 

Sylvia   walked   through   the  gates,  which  stood  hos- 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         39 

pitably  open,  and  when  she  was  half-way  up  the  horse- 
shoe stone-staircase  which  led  to  the  front  door,  a  man, 
dressed  in  the  white  dress  of  a  French  chef,  and  bearing 
an  almost  ludicrous  resemblance  to  M.  Girard,  came 
hurrying  out. 

"Madame  Bailey?"  he  exclaimed  joyously,  and  bow- 
ing very  low.  "Have  I  the  honour  of  greeting  Madame 
Bailey?  My  cousin  telephoned  to  me  that  you  might 
be  coming,  Madame,  to  dejeuner  I"  And  as  Sylvia  smiled 
in  assent:  "I  am  delighted,  I  am  honoured,  by  the  visit 
of  Madame  Bailey!  " 

Sylvia  laughed  outright.  She  really  could  not  help  it! 
It  was  very  nice  and  thoughtful  of  M.  Girard  to  have 
telephoned  to  his  cousin.  But  how  dreadful  it  would 
have  been  if  she  had  gone  straight  back  to  Paris  from  the 
station.  All  these  kind  people  would  have  had  their 
trouble  for  nothing. 

M.  Polperro  was  a  shrewd  Southerner,  and  he  had  had 
the  sense  to  make  but  few  alterations  to  the  Villa  du  Lac. 
It  therefore  retained  something  of  the  grand  air  it  had 
worn  in  the  days  when  it  had  been  the  property  of  a 
Court  oflBcial.  The  large,  cool,  circular  hall  into  which 
the  hotel-keeper  ushered  Sylvia  was  charming,  as  were 
the  long,  finely  decorated  reception-rooms  on  either  side. 

The  dining-room,  filled  with  small  oval  tables,  to 
which  M.  Polperro  next  led  his  honoured  guest,  had 
been  built  out  since  the  house  had  become  an  hotel.  It 
commanded  a  view  of  the  lake  on  the  one  side,  and  of 
the  large,  shady  garden  of  the  villa  on  the  other. 

"I  have  arranged  for  Madame  a  little  table  in  what 
we  call  the  lake  window,"  observed  M.  Polperro.     "As 


40  THE   CHIXK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

yet  Lacville  is  very  empty.  Paris  is  so  delightful,"  he 
sighed,  "but  very  soon,  when  the  heat  comes,  Lacville 
will  be  quite  full,"  he  smiled  joyously.  "I  myself  have 
a  very  choice  clientele — I  do  not  deal  with  rubbish." 
He  drew  himself  up  proudly.  "My  clients  come  back 
to  me  year  after  year.  Already  I  have  six  visitors,  and 
in  ten  days  my  pension  will  be  aw  grand  complet.  It  is 
quality,  not  quantity,  that  I  desire,  Madame.  If  ever 
you  know  anyone  who  wishes  to  come  to  Lacville  you 
may  safely  recommend  them — I  say  it  with  my  hands 
on  my  heart,"  and  he  suited  his  action  to  his  words — "to 
the  Villa  du  Lac." 

How  delightful  it  all  was  to  Sylvia  Bailey !  No  wonder 
her  feeling  of  depression  and  loneliness  vanished. 

As  she  sat  down,  and  looked  out  of  the  bay  window 
which  commanded  the  whole  length  of  the  gleaming,  sun- 
flecked  lake,  she  told  herself  that,  pleasant  as  was  Paris, 
Lacville  on  a  hot  day  was  certainly  a  hundred  times 
pleasanter  than  Paris. 

And  the  Casino?  Sylvia  fixed  her  blue  eyes  on  the 
white,  fairy-like  group  of  buildings,  which  were  so  attrac- 
tive an  addition  to  the  pretty  landscape. 

Surely  one  might  spend  a  pleasant  time  at  Lacville 
and  never  play  for  money?  Though  she  was  inclined  to 
feel  that  in  this  matter  of  gambling  English  people  are 
curiously  narrow.  It  was  better  to  be  philosophical  about 
it,  like  that  excellent  Frenchwoman  in  the  train,  who 
had  not  grudged  her  husband  a  little  amusement,  even 
if  it  entailed  his  losing  what  she  had  described  as  "  hard- 
earned  money." 

Though  she  had  to  wait  nearly  half  an  hour  for  her 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARAIOUR  41 

meal,  the  time  passed  quickly;  and  when  at  last  dejeuner 
was  served  to  her  well  and  deftly  by  a  pleasant-faced 
young  waitress  dressed  in  Breton  costume,  each  item  of 
the  carefully-prepared  meal  was  delicious.  M.  Polperro 
had  not  been  chef  to  a  Princess  for  nothing. 

Sylvia  Bailey  was  not  greedy,  but  like  most  healthy 
people  she  enjoyed  good  food,  and  she  had  very  seldom 
tasted  quite  such  good  food  as  that  which  was  served  to 
her  at  the  Hotel  du  Lac  on  this  memorable  June  day. 

She  had  almost  finished  her  luncheon  when  a  fair 
young  man  came  in  and  sat  down  at  a  small  table  situ- 
ated at  the  other  end  of  the  dining-room,  close  to  the 
window  overlooking  the  garden  of  the  Villa  du  Lac. 


CHAPTER  IV 

As  the  young  man  came  into  the  dining-room  he 
glanced  over  to  where  INIrs.  Bailey  was  sitting  and  then 
he  looked  away,  and,  unfolding  his  table  napkin,  paid 
no  more  attention  to  the  only  other  occupant  of  the 
room. 

Now  this  was  a  very  trifling  fact,  and  yet  it  surprised 
our  young  Englishwoman;  she  had  become  accustomed 
to  the  way  in  which  Frenchmen,  or  perhaps  it  would  be 
more  true  to  say  Parisians,  stare  at  a  pretty  woman  in 
the  streets,  in  omnibuses,  and  in  shops.  As  for  the 
dining-room  of  the  Hotel  de  I'Horloge,  it  always  seemed 
full  of  eyes  when  she  and  Anna  Wolsky  were  having 
lunch  or  dinner  there. 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  she  found  herself  close  to  a 
Frenchman  without  feeling  either  uncomfortably  or 
amusingly  aware  of  a  steady,  unwinking  stare.  It  was 
quite  an  odd  sensation  to  find  herself  thus  neglected ! 

Without  actually  looking  round,  Sylvia,  out  of  the 
corner  of  her  blue  eye,  could  see  this  exceptional  French- 
man. He  was  dressed  in  white  flannels,  and  he  wore 
rather  bright  pink  socks  and  a  pink  tie  to  match.  He 
must  be,  she  decided,  something  of  a  dandy.  Though 
still  a  young  man,  he  was  rather  bald,  and  he  had  a  thick 
fair  moustache.  He  looked  bored  and  very  grave;  she 
could  not  help  wondering  why  he  was  staying  at  Lacville. 

M.  Polperro  suddenly  appeared  at  the  door.     "Would 

42 


THE   CHINK   IN"  THE   ARMOUR  43 

M.  le  Comte  prefer  scrambled  eggs  or  an  omelette?"  he 
asked  obsequiously,  and  "M.  le  Comte"  lifted  his  head 
and  answered  shortly,  but  with  a  smile,  "Scrambled 
eggs,  my  good  Polperro." 

Doubtless  this  was  the  gentleman  who  was  brother- 
in-law  of  the  French  Duke  mentioned  by  INI.  Girard. 
He  spoke  to  the  chef  with  the  kindly  familiarity  born  of 
long  knowledge. 

After  having  given  the  Count  his  scrambled  eggs,  the 
young  waitress  came  over  to  where  Sylvia  was  sitting. 
"Would  Madame  like  to  have  her  coffee  in  the  garden?'* 
she  asked ;  and  Sylvia  said  that  she  would. 

How  enchanting  was  the  garden  of  the  Villa  du  Lac, 
and  how  unlike  any  hotel  garden  she  had  ever  seen! 
The  smooth,  wide  lawn  was  shaded  with  noble  cedars 
and  bright  green  chestnut  trees;  it  was  paradise  com- 
pared with  the  rather  stuffy  little  Hotel  de  I'Horloge 
and  the  dusty  Paris  streets. 

M.  Polperro  himself  brought  Sylvia's  coffee.  Then  he 
stayed  on  talking  to  her,  for  like  all  clever  hotel-keepers 
the  Southerner  had  the  gift  of  making  those  who  were 
staying  in  his  house  feel  as  if  they  were  indeed  his  guests 
rather  than  his  cUents. 

"  If  Madame  should  ever  care  to  make  a  little  stay  at 
Lacville,  how  happy  Madame  Polperro  and  I  would  be!" 
he  exclaimed.  "  I  have  a  beautiful  room  overlooking  the 
lake  which  I  could  give  Madame.  It  was  reserved  for  a 
Russian  Princess,  but  now  she  is  not  coming " 

"Perhaps  I  will  come  and  stay  here  some  day,"  said 
Sylvia,  and  she  really  felt  as  if  she  would  like  to  come 
and  stay  in  the  Villa  du  Lac.     "But  I  am  going  to  Swit- 


44  THE   CHINK   IX  THE   ARMOUR 

zerland  next  week,  so  it  will  have  to  be  the  next  time  I 
come  to  France  in  the  summer." 

"Does  Madame  play?"  asked  M.  Polperro,  insinu- 
atingly. 

"I?"  said  Sylvia,  laughing.  "No,  indeed!  Of  course, 
I  play  bridge — all  English  people  play  bridge — but  I 
have  never  gambled,  if  you  mean  that,  monsieur,  in  my 
life." 

"I  am  delighted  to  hear  Madame  say  so,"  said  M. 
Polperro,  heartily.  "People  now  talk  of  Lacville  as  if 
there  was  only  the  Casino  and  the  play.  They  forget 
the  beautiful  walks,  the  lovely  lake,  and  the  many  other 
attractions  we  have  to  offer!  Why,  Madame,  think  of 
the  Forest  of  IMontmorency?  In  old  days  it  was  quite 
a  drive  from  Lacville,  but  now  a  taxi  or  an  automobile 
will  get  you  there  in  a  few  minutes!  Still  the  Casino  Is 
very  attractive  too;  and  all  my  clients  belong  to  the 
Club!" 

1^  Sylvia  stayed  on  for  nearly  an  hour  in  the  delightful, 
peaceful  garden,  and  then,  rather  regretfully,  she  went 
up  the  lichen-covered  steps  which  led  into  the  hall.  How 
deliciously  cool  and  quiet  it  was  there. 

She  paid  her  bill;  it  seemed  very  moderate  consider- 
ing how  good  her  lunch  had  been,  and  then  slowly  made 
her  way  out  of  the  Villa  du  Lac,  down  across  the  stone- 
flagged  courtyard  to  the  gate,  and  so  into  the  sanded 
road. 

Crossing  over,  she  began  walking  by  the  edge  of  the 
lake;  and  once  more  loneliness  fell  upon  her.  The  happy- 
looking  people  who  passed  her  laughing  and  talking  to- 
gether, and  the  more  silent  couples  who  floated  by  on 


THE  .CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  45 

the  water  in  the  quaint  miniature  sailing  boats  with  which 
the  surface  of  the  lake  was  now  dotted,  were  none  of 
them  alone. 

Suddenly  the  old  parish  church  of  Lacville  chimed  out 
the  hour — it  was  only  one  o'clock — amazingly  early  still ! 

Someone  coming  across  the  road  lifted  his  hat.  Could 
it  be  to  her?  Yes,  for  it  was  the  young  man  who  had 
shared  with  her,  for  a  time,  the  large  dining-room  of  the 
Villa  du  Lac. 

Again  Sylvia  was  struck  by  what  she  could  only  sup- 
pose were  the  stranger's  good  manners,  for  instead  of 
staring  at  her,  as  even  the  good-humoured  bourgeois 
with  whom  she  had  travelled  from  Paris  that  morning 
had  done,  the  Count— she  remembered  he  was  a  Count 
— turned  sharply  to  the  right  and  walked  briskly  along 
to  the  turning  which  led  to  the  Casino. 

The  Casino?  Why,  of  course,  it  was  there  that  she 
must  look  for  Anna  Wolsky.  How  stupid  of  her  not  to 
have  thought  of  it!  And  so,  after  waiting  a  moment, 
she  also  joined  the  little  string  of  people  who  were  wend- 
ing their  way  towards  the  great  white  building. 

After  having  paid  a  franc  for  admission,  Sylvia  found 
herself  in  the  hall  of  the  Casino  of  Lacville.  An  eager 
attendant  rushed  forward  to  relieve  her  of  the  dust- 
cloak  and  parasol  which  she  was  carrying. 

"  Does  Madame  wish  to  go  straight  to  the  Room  of  the 
Games?"  he  inquired  eagerly. 

Sylvia  bent  her  head.  It  was  there,  or  so  she  supposed, 
that  Anna  would  be. 

Feeling  a  thrill  of  keen  curiosity,  she  followed  the 
man  through  a  prettily-decorated  vestibule,  and  so  into 


46  THE   CHIXK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

a  large  room,  overlooking  the  lake,  where  already  a  crowd 
of  people  were  gathered  round  the  green  baize  tables. 

The  Salle  des  Jeux  at  Lacville  is  a  charming,  con- 
servatory-like apartment,  looking,  indeed,  as  if  it  were 
actually  built  out  on  the  water. 

But  none  of  the  people  were  looking  at  the  beautiful 
scene  outside.  Instead,  each  group  was  intent  on  the 
table,  and  on  the  game  being  played  thereon — a  game, 
it  may  be  mentioned,  which  has  a  certain  affinity  with 
Roulette  and  Petits  Chevaux,  though  it  is  neither  the 
one  nor  the  other. 

Sylvia  looked  about  her  timidly;  but  no  one  took  the 
slightest  notice  of  her,  and  this  in  itself  was  rather  strange. 
She  was  used  to  exciting  a  good  deal  of  attention  wherever 
she  went  in  France,  but  here,  at  Lacville,  everyone  seemed 
blind  to  her  presence.  It  was  almost  as  if  she  were  in- 
visible! In  a  way  this  was  a  relief  to  her;  but  at  the 
same  time,  she  found  it  curiously  disconcerting. 

She  walked  slowly  round  each  gambling  table,  keeping 
well  outside  the  various  circles  of  people  sitting  and 
standing  there. 

Strange  to  say  Anna  Wolsky  was  not  among  them. 
Of  that  fact  Sylvia  soon  became  quite  sure. 

At  last  a  servant  in  livery  came  up  to  her.  "Does 
Madame  want  a  seat?"  he  asked  officiously.  "If  so,  I 
can  procure  Madame  a  seat  in  a  very  few  moments." 

But  Sylvia,  blushing,  shook  her  head.  She  certainly 
had  no  wish  to  sit  down. 

"I  only  came  in  to  look  for  a  friend,"  she  said,  hesi- 
tatingly; "but  my  friend  is  not  here." 

And  she  was  making  her  way  out  of  the  Salle  des 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  47 

Jeux,  feeling  rather  disconsolate  and  disappointed,  when 
suddenly,  in  the  vestibule,  she  saw  Madame  Wolsky 
walking  towards  her  in  the  company  of  a  middle-aged 
man. 

"Then  that  is  settled?"  Sylvia  heard  Anna  say  in  her 
indifferent  French.  "You  will  fill  up  all  the  formalities, 
and  by  the  time  I  arrive  the  card  of  membership  will  be 
ready  for  me?  This  kind  of  thing" — she  waved  her 
hand  towards  the  large  room  Sylvia  had  just  left — "is 
no  use  to  me  at  all!  I  only  like  le  Grand  Jeu";  and  a 
slight  smile  came  over  her  dark  face. 

The  man  who  was  with  her  laughed  as  if  she  had  made 
a  good  joke;  then  bowing,  he  left  her. 

"Sylvia!" 

"Anna!" 

Mrs.  Bailey  fancied  that  the  other  was  not  particularly 
sorry  to  have  been  followed. 

"  So  you  came  after  me?  Well !  Well !  I  never  should 
have  thought  to  have  seen  my  dear  Puritan,  Sylvia 
Bailey,  in  such  a  place  as  the  Casino  of  Lacville?"  said 
the  Polish  lady  laughing.  "However,  as  you  are  here, 
let  us  enjoy  ourselves.  W^ould  you  like  to  risk  a  few 
francs?  " 

Together  they  had  gone  back  into  the  Salle  des  Jeux, 
and  Anna  drew  Sylvia  towards  the  nearest  table. 

"This  is  a  child's  game!"  she  exclaimed,  contemptu- 
ously. "I  cannot  understand  how  all  these  clever  Par- 
isians can  care  to  come  out  here  and  lose  their  money 
every  Saturday  and  Sunday,  to  say  nothing  of  other 
days!" 

"But  I  suppose  some  of  these  people  make  money?" 


48  TIIE    CHIXK   IN   THE    ARMOUR 

questioned  Sylvia.  She  thought  she  saw  a  great  deal  of 
money  being  won,  as  well  as  lost,  on  the  green  cloth  of 
the  table  before  her. 

"Oh  yes,  no  doubt  a  few  may  make  money  at  this 
game!  But  I  have  just  been  arranging,  with  the  aid  of 
the  owner  of  the  Pension  where  I  am  going  to  stay  when 
I  come  here,  to  join  the  Club." 

And  then,  realising  that  Sylvia  did  not  understand, 
she  went  on. 

"You  see,  my  dear  child,  there  are  two  kinds  of  play 
here — as  there  are,  indeed,  at  almost  every  Casino  in 
France.  There  is  this  game,  which  is,  as  I  say,  a  child's 
game — a  game  at  which  you  can  make  or  lose  a  few 
francs;  and  then  there  is  Baccarat!" 

She  waited  a  moment. 
I     "Yes?"  said  Sylvia  questioningly. 

"Baccarat  is  played  here  in  what  they  call  the  Club, 
in  another  part  of  the  building.  As  there  is  an  entrance 
fee  to  the  Club,  there  is  never  such  a  crowd  in  the  Bac- 
carat Room  as  there  is  here.  And  those  who  belong  to 
the  Club  'mean  business,'  as  they  say  in  your  dear  coun- 
try. They  come,  that  is,  to  play  in  the  way  that  I  under- 
stand and  that  I  enjoy  play!" 

A  little  colour  rose  to  Anna  Wolsky's  sallow  cheeks; 
she  looked  exhilarated,  excited  at  the  thoughts  and  mem- 
ories her  words  conjured  up. 

Sylvia  also  felt  curiously  excited.  She  found  the  scene 
strangely  fascinating — the  scene  presented  by  this  crowd 
of  eager  men  and  women,  each  and  all  absorbed  in  this 
mysterious  game  which  looked  anything  but  a  child's 
game,  though  Anna  had  called  it  so. 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  49 

But  as  they  were  trying  to  make  their  way  through  the 
now  dense  crowd  of  people,  the  middle-aged  man  who  had 
been  with  Anna  when  Sylvia  had  first  seen  her  just  now 
hurried  up  to  them. 

"Everything  is  arranged,  Madame!"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Here  is  your  membership  card.  May  I  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  taking  you  myself  to  the  Club?  Your  friend  can 
come  too.     She  does  not  want  to  play,  does  she?  " 

He  looked  inquisitively  at  Sylvia,  and  his  hard  face 
softened.  He  had  your  true  Frenchman's  pleasure  in 
charm  and  beauty.  "Madame,  or  is  it  Mademoi- 
selle?  " 

"Madame!"  answered  Anna,  smiling. 

" Madame  can  certainly  come  in  and  look  on  for  a 

few  moments,  even  though  she  be  not  a  member  of  the 
Club." 

They  turned  and  followed  him  up  a  broad,  shallow  stair- 
case, into  a  part  of  the  Casino  where  the  very  atmosphere 
seemed  different  from  that  surrounding  the  public  gaming 
tables. 

Here,  in  the  Club,  all  was  hushed  and  quiet,  and  under- 
foot was  a  thick  carpet. 

There  were  very  few  people  in  the  Baccarat  Room, 
some  twelve  men,  and  four  or  five  ladies  who  were  broken 
up  into  groups,  and  talking  with  one  another  in  the  inti- 
mate, desultory  fashion  in  which  people  talk  who  meet 
daily  in  pursuit  of  some  common  interest  or  hobby. 

And  then,  all  at  once,  Sylvia  Bailey  saw  that  among 
them,  but  standing  a  little  apart,  was  the  Count — was 
not  his  name  de  Virieu? 

He  turned  round,  and  as  he  saw  her  she  thought  that 


60  THE    CHINK   IN   THE    ARMOUR 

a  look  of  surprise,  almost  of  annoyance,  flitted  over  his 
impassive  face.  Then  he  moved  away  from  where  he 
could  see  her. 

A  peculiar-looking  old  gentleman,  who  seemed  on 
kindly  terms  with  everyone  in  the  room,  pulled  a  large 
turnip  watch  out  of  his  pocket.  "  It  is  nearly  half-past 
one'"  he  exclaimed  fussily.  "Surely,  it  is  time  that 
w^e  began!     Who  takes  the  Bank  to-day? " 

"I  will,"  said  the  Comte  de  Virieu,  coming  forward. 

Five  minutes  later  play  was  in  full  s\\ing.  Sylvia  did 
not  in  the  least  understand  the  game  of  Baccarat,  and 
she  would  have  been  surprised  indeed  had  she  been  told 
that  the  best  account  of  it  ever  written  is  that  which 
describes  it  as  "neither  a  recreation  nor  an  intellectual 
exercise,  but  simply  a  means  for  the  rapid  exchange  of 
money  well  suited  to  persons  of  impatient  temperament." 

With  fascinated  eyes,  Sylvia  watched  Anna  put  down 
her  gold  pieces  on  the  green  cloth.  Then  she  noted  the 
cards  as  they  were  dealt  out,  and  listened,  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted, uncomprehendingly,  to  the  mysterious  words 
which  told  how  the  game  was  going.  Still  she  sympa- 
thised very  heartily  with  her  friend  when  Anna's  gold 
pieces  were  swept  away,  and  she  rejoiced  as  heartily 
when  gold  was  added  to  Anna's  little  pile. 

They  both  stood,  refusing  the  seats  which  were  pressed 
upon  them. 

Suddenly  Sylvia  Bailey,  looking  up  from  the  green 
cloth,  saw  the  eyes  of  the  man  who  held  the  Bank  fixed 
full  upon  her. 

The  Comte  de  Virieu  did  not  gaze  at  the  young  Eng- 
lish woman  with  the  bold,  impersonal  stare  to  which  she 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         51 

had  become  accustomed — bis  glance  was  far  more  thought- 
ful, questioning,  and  in  a  sense  kindly.  But  his  eyes 
seemed  to  pierce  her  through  and  through,  and  suddenly 
her  heart  began  to  beat  very  fast.  Yet  no  colour  came 
into  her  face — indeed,  Sylvia  grew  pale. 

She  looked  down  at  the  table,  but  even  so  she  remained 
conscious  of  that  piercing  gaze  turned  on  her,  and  with 
some  surprise  she  found  herself  keenly  visuaUsing  the 
young  man's  face. 

Alone  among  all  the  people  in  the  room,  the  Comte  de 
Virieu  looked  as  if  he  lived  a  more  or  less  outdoor  life; 
his  face  was  tanned,  his  blue  eyes  were  very  bright,  and 
the  hands  dealing  out  the  cards  were  well-shaped  and 
muscular.  Somehow  he  looked  very  different,  she  could 
hardly  explain  how  or  why,  from  the  men  round  him. 

At  last  she  moved  round,  so  as  to  avoid  being  opposite 
to  him. 

Yes,  she  felt  more  comfortable  now,  and  slowly,  almost 
insensibly,  the  glamour  of  play  began  to  steal  over  Sylvia 
Bailey's  senses.  She  began  to  understand  the  at  once 
very  simple  and,  to  the  uninitiated,  intricate  game  of 
Baccarat — to  long,  as  Anna  Wolsky  longed,  for  the  fate- 
ful nine,  eight,  five,  and  four  to  be  turned  up. 

She  had  fifty  francs  in  her  purse,  and  she  ached  to  risk 
a  gold  piece. 

"Do  you  think  I  might  put  down  ten  francs?"  she 
whispered  to  Anna. 

And  the  other  laughed,  and  exclaimed,  "Yes,  of  course 
you  can!" 

Sylvia  put  down  a  ten-franc  piece,  and  a  moment  later 
it  had  become  twenty  francs. 


52         THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

"Leave  it  on,"  murmured  Anna,  "and  see  what  hap* 
pens " 

Sylvia  followed  her  friend's  advice,  and  a  larger  gold 
piece  was  added  to  the  two  already  there. 

She  took  up  the  forty  francs  with  a  curious  thrill  of  joy 
and  fear. 

But  then  an  untoward  little  incident  took  place.  One 
of  the  liveried  men-servants  stepped  forward.  "Has 
Madame  got  her  card  of  membership?"  he  inquired 
smoothly. 

Sylvia  blushed  painfully.  No,  she  had  not  got  a  card 
of  membership — and  there  had  been  an  implied  under- 
standing that  she  was  only  to  look  on,  not  play. 

She  felt  terribly  ashamed — a  very  unusual  feeling  for 
Sylvia  Bailey — and  the  gold  pieces  she  held  in  her  hand, 
for  she  had  not  yet  put  them  in  her  purse,  felt  as  if  they 
burnt  her. 

But  she  found  a  friend,  a  defender  in  an  unexpected 
quarter.  The  Count  rose  from  the  table.  He  said  a 
few  words  in  a  low  tone  to  the  servant,  and  the  man  fell 
back. 

"Of  course,  this  young  lady  may  play,"  he  addressed 
Anna,  "and  as  Banker  I  wish  her  all  good  luck!  This  is 
probably  her  first  and  her  last  visit  to  Lacville."  He 
smiled  pleasantly,  and  a  little  sadly.  Sylvia  noticed  that 
he  had  a  low,  agreeable  \'oice. 

"Take  her  away,  Madame,  when  she  has  won  a  little 
more!    Do  not  give  her  time  to  lose  what  she  has  won." 

He  spoke  exactly  as  if  Sylvia  was  a  child.  She  felt 
piqued,  and  Madame  Wolsky  stared  at  him  rather 
haughtily.     Still,  she  was  grateful  for  his  intervention,     nj 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         53 

"We  thank  you,  Monsieur,"  she  said  stiffly.  "But  I 
think  we  have  been  here  quite  long  enough." 

He  bowed,  and  again  sat  down. 

"I  will  now  take  you  a  drive,  Sylvia.  We  have  had 
sufficient  of  this!" 

Anna  walked  towards  the  door,  and  many  were  the 
curious  glances  now  turned  after  the  two  friends. 

"It  will  amuse  j'ou  to  see  something  of  Lacville.  As 
that  gentleman  said,  I  do  not  suppose  you  will  ever  come 
here  again.  And,  as  I  shall  spend  most  of  my  time  in  the 
Casino,  I  can  very  well  afford  to  spare  a  little  while  out 
of  it  to-day!" 

They  made  their  way  out  of  the  great  white  building, 
Sylvia  feeling  oppressed,  almost  bewildered,  by  her  first 
taste  of  gambling. 

It  was  three  o'clock,  and  very  hot.  They  hailed  one 
of  the  little  open  carriages  which  are  among  the  innocent 
charms  of  Lacville. 

"  First  you  will  go  round  the  lake,"  said  Madame  Wol- 
sky  to  the  driver,  "  and  then  you  will  take  us  to  the  Pen- 
sion Malfait,  in  I'Avenue  des  Acacias." 

Under  shady  trees,  bowling  along  sanded  roads  lined 
with  pretty  villas  and  chalets,  they  drove  all  round  the 
lake,  and  more  and  more  the  place  impressed  Sylvia  as 
might  have  done  a  charming  piece  of  scene-painting. 

All  the  people  they  passed  on  the  road,  in  carriages, 
in  motor-cars,  and  on  foot,  looked  happy,  prosperous, 
gay,  and  without  a  care  in  the  world;  and  where  in  the 
morning  there  had  been  one  boat,  there  were  now  five 
sailing  on  the  blue,  gleaming  waters  fringed  with  trees 
and  flowering  shrubs. 


54  THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR 

At  last  they  once  more  found  themselves  close  to  the 
Casino.  A  steady  stream  of  people  was  now  pouring  in 
through  the  great  glass  doors. 

"This  sort  of  thing  will  go  on  up  till  about  nine  this 
evening!"  said  Anna,  smiling  grimly.  "Think,  my  dear 
— a  hundred  and  twenty  trains  daily!  That  room  in  the 
Casino  where  I  first  saw  you  will  be  crammed  to  suffoca- 
tion within  an  hour,  and  even  the  Club  will  be  well  filled, 
though  I  fancy  the  regular  habitues  of  the  club  are  rather 
apt  to  avoid  Saturday'  and  Sunday  at  Lacville.  I  myself, 
when  living  here,  shall  try  to  do  something  else  on  those 
two  days.  By  the  way — how  dreadful  that  I  should 
forget! — have  you  had  a  proper  dejeuner f"  she  looked 
anxiously  at  Sylvia. 

Sylvia  laughed,  and  told  something  of  her  adventures 
at  the  Villa  du  Lac. 

"The  Villa  du  Lac?  I  have  heard  of  it,  but  surely  it's 
an  extremely  expensive  hotel?  The  place  I've  chosen 
for  myself  is  farther  away  from  the  Casino;  but  the  dis- 
tance will  force  me  to  take  a  walk  every  day,  and  that 
will  be  a  very  good  thing.  Last  time  I  was  at  Monte 
Carlo  I  had  a  lodging  right  up  in  IMonaco,  and  I  found 
that  a  very  much  healthier  plan  than  to  live  close  to  the 
Casino,"  Anna  spoke  quite  seriously.  "The  Pension 
Malfait  is  really  extraordinarily  cheap  for  a  place  near 
Paris.  I  am  only  going  to  pay  fifty-five  francs  a  week, 
tout  compris!  " 

They  had  now  turned  from  the  road  encircling  the 
lake,  and  were  driving  through  leafy  avenues  which  re- 
minded Sylvia  of  a  London  suburb  where  she  had  once 
stayed. 


THE  CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  55 

The  chalets  and  villas  by  which  they  passed  were  not 
so  large  nor  so  prosperous-looking  as  those  that  bordered 
the  lake,  but  still  many  of  them  were  pretty  and  fantastic- 
looking  little  houses,  and  the  gardens  were  gay  with 
flowers. 

"I  suppose  no  one  lives  here  in  the  winter!"  said 
Sylvia  suddenly. 

She  had  noticed,  for  in  some  ways  she  was  very  obser- 
vant though  in  other  ways  strangely  unseeing,  that  all 
the  flowers  were  of  the  bedding-out  varieties;  there  were 
luxuriant  creepers,  but  not  a  single  garden  that  she 
passed  had  that  indefinable  look  of  being  an  old  or  a  well- 
tended  garden. 

"In  the  winter?  Why,  in  the  winter  Lacville  is  an 
absolute  desert,"  said  Anna  laughing.  "You  see,  the 
Casino  only  has  a  summer  Concession;  it  cannot  open 
till  April  15.  Of  course  there  are  people  who  will  tell 
you  that  Lacville  is  the  plague-pit  of  Paris,  but  that's  all 
nonsense!  Lacville  is  neither  better  nor  worse  than 
other  towns  near  the  capital!" 

The  carriage  had  now  drawn  up  before  a  large,  plain, 
white  house,  across  which  was  painted  in  huge,  black 
letters,  "Hotel-Pension  Malfait." 

"This  is  the  place  I  have  found!"  exclaimed  Anna. 
"Would  you  care  to  come  in  and  see  the  room  Fve  en- 
gaged from  next  Monday  week?" 

Sylvia  followed  her  into  the  house  with  curiosity  and 
interest.  Somehow  she  did  not  like  the  Pension  Malfait, 
though  it  was  clear  that  it  had  once  been  a  handsome 
private  mansion  standing  in  large  grounds  of  its  own. 
The  garden,  however,  had  now  been  cut  down  to  a  small 


56         THE  CHINK  IX  THE  ARMOUR 

strip,  and  the  whole  place  formed  a  great  contrast  to  the 
gay  and  charming  Villa  du  Lac. 

What  garden  there  was  seemed  uncared  for,  though 
an  attempt  had  been  made  to  make  it  look  pretty  with 
the  aid  of  a  few  geraniums  and  marguerites. 

M.  Malfait,  the  proprietor  of  the  Pension,  whom  Sylvia 
had  already  seen  with  Anna  at  the  Casino,  now  came 
forward  in  the  hall,  and  Sylvia  compared  him  greatly  to 
his  disadvantage,  to  the  merry  M.  Polperro. 

"Madame  has  brought  her  friend?"  he  said  eagerly, 
and  staring  at  Salvia  as  he  spoke.  "I  hope  that  Mad* 
ame's  friend  will  come  and  stay  with  us  too?  I  have  i» 
charming  room  which  I  could  give  this  lady;  but  later 
on  we  shall  be  very  full — full  all  the  summer!  The  hot 
weather  is  a  godsend  for  Lacville;  for  it  drives  the  Pari- 
sians out  from  their  unhealthy  city." 

He  beckoned  to  his  wife,  a  disagreeable-looking  woman 
who  was  sitting  in  a  little  glass  cage  made  in  an  angle  of 
the  square  hall. 

"]\Iadame  Wolsky  has  brought  this  good  lady  to  see 
our  Pension!"  he  exclaimed,  "and  perhaps  she  is  also 
coming  to  stay  with  us " 

In  vain  Sylvia  smilingly  shook  her  head.  She  was 
made  to  go  all  over  the  large,  rather  gloomy  house,  and 
to  peep  into  each  of  the  bare,  ugly  bed-rooms. 

That  which  Anna  had  engaged  had  a  window  looking 
over  the  back  of  the  house;  Sylvia  thought  it  singularly 
cheerless.  There  was,  however,  a  good  arm-chair  and  a 
writing-table  on  which  lay  a  new-looking  blotter.  It  was 
the  only  bed-room  containing  such  a  luxury. 

"  An  English  lady  was  staying  here  not  very  long  ago," 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         5/ 

observed  M.  Malfait,  "and  she  bought  that  table  and 
left  it  to  me  as  a  little  gift  when  she  went  away.  That 
was  very  gracious  on  her  part!" 

They  glanced  into  the  rather  mournful-looking  salon, 
of  which  the  windows  opened  out  on  the  tiny  garden. 
And  then  M.  Malfait  led  them  proudly  into  the  dining- 
room,  with  its  one  long  table,  running  down  the  middle, 
on  which  at  intervals  were  set  dessert  dishes  filled  with  the 
nuts,  grapes,  and  oranges  of  which  Sylvia  had  already 
become  so  weary  at  the  Hotel  de  I'Horloge. 

"My  clientele,"  said  M.  Malfait  gravely,  "is  very 
select  and  chic.  Those  of  my  guests  who  frequent  the 
Casino  all  belong  to  the  Club!" 

He  stated  the  fact  proudly,  and  Sylvia  was  amused  to 
notice  that  in  this  matter  he  and  mine  host  at  the  Villa 
du  Lac  apparently  saw  eye  to  eye.  Both  were  eager  to 
dissociate  themselves  from  the  ordinary  gambler  who  lost 
or  won  a  few  francs  in  those  of  the  gambling  rooms  open 
to  the  general  public. 

"Well,"  said  Anna  at  last,  "I  suppose  we  had  better 
leave  now,  but  we  might  as  well  go  on  driving  for  about 
an  hour,  and  then,  when  It  is  a  little  cooler,  we  will  go 
back  to  Paris  and  be  there  in  time  for  tea." 

The  driver  was  as  good-natured  as  everyone  else  at 
Lacville  seemed  to  be.  He  drove  his  fares  away  from  the 
town,  and  so  to  the  very  outskirts  of  Lacville,  where 
there  were  many  charming  bits  of  wild  woodland  and 
gardens  up  for  sale. 

"Even  five  years  ago,"  he  said,  "much  of  this  was  for- 
est, Mesdames;  but  now — well.  Dame! — you  can  under- 
stand people  are  eager  to  sell.    There  are  rumours  that 


58  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

the  Concession  may  be  withdrawn  from  the  Casino — 
that  would  be  terrible,  some  say  it  would  kill  Lacville! 
It  would  be  all  the  same  to  me,  I  should  always  find 
work  elsewhere.  But  it  makes  everyone  eager  to  sell — 
those,  I  mean,  who  have  land  at  Lacville.  There  are 
others,"  continued  the  man — he  had  turned  round  on 
his  seat,  and  the  horse  was  going  at  a  foot's  pace — "  who 
declare  that  it  would  be  far  better  for  the  town — that 
there  would  be  a  more  solid  population  established  here 
— you  understand,  ]Mesdames,  what  I  mean?  The  Lac- 
ville tradesmen  would  be  as  pleased,  quite  as  pleased,  or 
so  some  of  them  say;  but,  all  the  same,  they  are  selling 
their  land!" 

When  the  two  friends  finally  got  back  to  the  Hotel  de 
I'Horloge,  Sylvia  Bailey  found  that  a  letter,  which  had 
not  been  given  to  her  that  morning,  contained  the  news 
that  the  English  friends  whom  she  had  been  expecting 
to  join  in  Switzerland  the  following  week  had  altered 
their  plans,  and  were  no  longer  going  abroad. 


CHAPTER  V 

Sylvia  could  hardly  have  said  how  it  came  about  that 
she  found  herself  established  in  the  Villa  du  Lac  only  a 
week  after  her  first  visit  to  Lacville!  But  so  it  was,  and 
she  found  the  change  a  delightful  one  from  every  point 
of  view. 

Paris  had  suddenly  become  intolerably  hot.  As  is  the 
way  with  the  Siren  city  when  June  is  half-way  through, 
the  asphalt  pavements  radiated  heat;  the  air  was  heavy, 
laden  with  strange,  unpleasing  odours;  and  even  the  trees, 
which  form  such  delicious  oases  of  greenery  in  the  older 
quarters  of  the  town  were  powdered  with  grey  dust. 

Also  Anna  Wolsky  had  become  restless — quite  unlike 
what  she  had  been  before  that  hour  spent  by  her  and  by 
Sylvia  Bailey  in  the  Club  at  Lacville;  she  had  gone  back 
there  three  times,  refusing,  almost  angrily,  the  company 
of  her  English  friend.  For  a  day  or  two  Sylvia  had 
thought  seriously  of  returning  to  England,  but  she  had 
let  her  pretty  house  at  Market  Dalling  till  the  end  of 
August;  and,  in  spite  of  the  heat,  she  did  not  wish  to 
leave  France. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  week  Anna  suddenly  exclaimed : 

"After  all,  why  shouldn't  you  come  out  to  Lacville, 
Sylvia?  You  can't  go  to  Switzerland  alone,  and  you  cer- 
tainly don't  want  to  go  on  staying  in  Paris  as  Paris  is  now ! 
I  do  not  ask  you  to  go  to  the  Pension  Malfait,  but  come 
to  the  Villa  du  Lac.    You  will  soon  make  acquaintances 

59 


60         THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

in  that  sort  of  place — I  mean,"  she  added,  "in  your  hotel, 
not  in  the  town.     We  could  always  spend  the  mornings 

together " 

" And  I,  too,  could  Join  the  Club  at  the  Casino," 


interjected  Sylvia,  smiling. 

"No,  no,  I  don't  want  you  to  do  that!"  exclaimed 
Anna  hastily. 

And  then  Sylvia,  for  some  unaccountable  reason,  felt 
rather  irritated.  It  was  absurd  of  Anna  to  speak  to  her 
like  that!  Bill  Chester,  her  trustee,  and  sometime  lover, 
always  treated  her  as  if  she  w^as  a  child,  and  a  rather 
naughty  child,  too;  she  would  not  allow  Anna  Wolsky 
to  do  so. 

"I  don't  see  why  not!"  she  cried.  "You  yourself  say 
that  there  is  no  harm  in  gambling  if  one  can  afford  it." 

This  was  how  Sylvia  Bailey  came  to  find  herself  an 
inmate  of  the  Villa  du  Lac  at  Lacville;  and  when  once 
the  owner  of  the  Hotel  de  I'Horloge  had  understood  that 
in  any  case  she  meant  to  leave  Paris,  he  had  done  all  in 
his  power  to  make  her  going  to  his  relation,  mine  host  of 
the  Villa  du  Lac,  easy  and  agreeable. 

Sylvia  learnt  with  surprise  that  she  would  have  to  pay 
very  little  more  at  the  Villa  du  Lac  than  she  had  done 
at  the  Hotel  de  I'Horloge;  on  the  other  hand,  she  could 
not  there  have  the  use  of  a  sitting-room,  for  the  good 
reason  that  there  were  no  private  sitting-rooms  in  the 
villa.  But  that,  so  she  told  herself,  would  be  no  hard- 
ship, and  she  could  spend  almost  the  whole  of  the  day 
in  the  charming  garden. 

The  two  friends  arrived  at  Lacville  late  in  the  after- 


THE   CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR  61 

noon,  and  on  a  Monday,  that  is  on  the  quietest  day  of 
the  week.  And  when  Anna  had  left  Sylvia  at  the  Villa 
du  Lac,  driving  off  alone  to  her  own  humbler  pension,  the 
young  Englishwoman,  while  feeling  rather  lonely,  realised 
that  M.  Polperro  had  not  exaggerated  the  charm  of  his 
hostelry. 

Proudly  mine  host  led  Mrs.  Bailey  up  the  wide  stair- 
case into  the  spacious,  airy  room  which  had  been  prepared 
for  her.  "  This  was  the  bed-chamber  of  Madame  la  Com- 
tesse  de  Para,  the  friend  of  the  Empress  Eugenie,"  he 
said. 

The  windows  of  the  large,  circular  room,  mirror-lined, 
and  still  containing  the  fantastic,  rather  showy  decora- 
tions which  dated  from  the  Second  Empire,  overlooked 
the  broad  waters  of  the  lake.  Even  now,  though  it  was 
still  daylight,  certain  romantic-natured  couples  had  lit 
paper  lanterns  and  hung  them  at  the  prows  of  their  little 
sailing-boats. 

The  scene  had  a  certain  fairy-like  beauty  and  stillness. 

"Madame  will  find  the  Villa  du  Lac  far  more  lively 
now,"  exclamied  M.  Pol])erro  cheerfully.  "Last  week  I 
had  only  M.  le  Comte  Paul  de  Virieu — no  doubt  Mad- 
ame has  heard  of  his  brother-in-law,  the  Ducd'Eglemont?" 

Sylvia  smiled.  "Yes,  he  won  the  Derby,  a  famous 
English  race,"  she  said;  and  then,  simply  because  the 
landlord's  love  of  talking  was  infectious,  "And  does  the 
Count  own  horses,  too?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  no,  IMadame.     He  loves  them,  yes,  and  he  is  a 
fine  horseman,  but  Count  Paul,  alas!  has  other  things 
that  interest  and  occupy  him  more  than  horses ! " 
^  After  M.  Polperro  had  bowed  himself  out,  Sylvia  sat 


62         THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

down  close  to  one  of  the  open  windows  and  looked  out 
over  the  enchanting,  and  to  her  English  eyes,  unusual 
panorama  spread  out  before  her. 

Yes,  she  had  done  well  to  come  here,  to  a  place  of 
which,  no  doubt,  many  of  her  English  friends  would  have 
thoroughly  disapproved!  But,  after  all,  what  was  wrong 
about  Lacville?  Where,  for  the  matter  of  that,  was  the 
harm  of  playing  for  money  if  one  could  afford  to  lose  it? 

Sylvia  had  hardly  ever  met  so  kind  or  so  intelligent  a 
woman  as  was  her  new  friend,  Anna  Wolsky:  and  Anna 
— she  made  no  secret  of  it  at  all — allowed  playing  for 
money  to  be  her  one  absorbing  interest  in  life. 

As  she  thought  of  the  Polish  woman  Sylvia  felt  sorry 
that  she  and  her  friend  were  in  different  pensions.  It 
would  have  been  so  nice  to  have  had  her  here,  in  the 
Villa  du  Lac.  She  felt  rather  lost  without  Anna,  for  she 
had  become  accustomed  to  the  other's  pleasant,  stimu- 
lating companionship. 

M.  Polperro  had  said  that  dinner  was  at  half-past 
seven.  Sylvia  got  up  from  her  chair  by  the  window. 
She  moved  back  into  the  room  and  put  on  a  pretty  white 
lace  evening  dress  which  she  had  not  worn  since  she  had 
been  in  France. 

It  would  have  been  absurd  to  have  appeared  in  such- 
a  gown  in  the  little  dining-room  of  the  Hotel  de  I'Horloge, 
which  opened  into  the  street;  but  the  Villa  du  Lac  was 
quite  diKerent. 

As  she  saw  herself  reflected  in  one  of  the  long  mirrors 
let  into  the  wall,  Sylvia  blushed  and  half-smiled.  She 
had  suddenly  remembered  the  young  man  who  had  be- 
haved, on  that  first  visit  of  hers  to  the  Villa  du  Lac,  so 


THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  63 

much  more  discreetly  than  had  all  the  other  Frenchmen 
with  whom  she  had  been  brought  in  temporary  contact. 
She  was  familiar,  through  newspaper  paragraphs,  with 
the  name  of  his  brother-in-law,  the  French  duke  who 
had  won  the  Derby.  The  Due  d'Eglcmont,  that  was  the 
racing  French  duke  who  had  carried  off  the  blue  riband 
of  the  British  Turf — the  other  name  was  harder  to  re- 
member— then  it  came  to  her.  Count  Paul  de  Virieu. 
How  kind  and  courteous  he  had  been  to  her  and  her 
friend  in  the  Club.  She  remembered  him  very  vividly. 
Yes,  though  not  exactly  good-looking,  he  had  fine  eyes, 
and  a  clever,  if  not  a  very  happy,  face. 

And  then,  on  going  down  the  broad,  shallow  staircase, 
and  so  through  the  large,  oval  hall  into  the  dining-room, 
Sylvia  Bailey  saw  that  the  man  of  whom  she  had  been 
thinking  was  there,  sitting  very  near  to  where  she  her- 
self was  now  told  that  she  was  to  sit.  In  the  week  that 
had  gone  by  since  Sylvia  had  paid  her  first  visit  to  Lac- 
ville,  the  Villa  had  gradually  filled  up  with  people  eager, 
like  herself,  to  escape  from  the  heat  and  dust  of  Paris, 
and  the  pleasant  little  table  by  the  window  had  been 
appropriated  by  someone  else. 

When  the  young  Englishwoman  came  into  the  dining- 
room,  the  Comte  de  Virieu  got  up  from  his  chair,  and 
clicking  his  heels  together,  bowed  low  and  gravely. 

She  had  never  seen  a  man  do  that  before.  And  it 
looked  so  funny!  Sylvia  felt  inclined  to  burst  out  laugh- 
ing. But  all  she  did  was  to  nod  gravely,  and  the  Count, 
sitting  down,  took  no  further  apparent  notice  of  her. 

There  were  a  good  many  people  in  the  large  room; 
parties  of  two,  three,  and  four,  talking  merrily  together, 


64  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

as  is  the  way  with  French  people  at  their  meals.  No 
one  was  alone  save  the  Comte  de  Virieu  and  herself. 
Sylvia  wondered  if  he  felt  as  lonely  as  she  did. 

Towards  the  end  of  dinner  the  host  came  in  and 
beamed  on  his  guests;  then  he  walked  across  to  where 
IMrs.  Bailey  sat  by  herself.  "  I  hope  Madame  is  satisfied 
with  her  dinner,"  he  said  pleasantly'.  "Madame  must 
always  tell  me  if  there  is  anything  she  does  not  hke." 

He  called  the  youngest  of  the  three  waitresses.  "Fe- 
licie!  You  must  look  very  well  after  Madame,"  he  said 
solemnly.  "INIake  her  comfortable,  attend  to  her  slight- 
est wish" — and  then  he  chuckled — "This  is  my  niece," 
he  said,  "  a  very  good  girl !  She  is  our  adopted  daughter. 
Madame  will  only  have  to  ask  her  for  anything  she  wants." 

Sylvia  felt  much  happier,  and  no  longer  lonely.  It 
was  all  rather  absurd — but  it  was  all  very  pleasant! 
She  had  never  met  an  hotel  keeper  like  little  Polperro, 
one  at  once  so  familiar  and  so  inoffensive  in  manner, 
i  V  "Thank  you  so  much,"  she  said,  "but  I  am  more  than 
comfortable!  And  after  dinner  I  shall  go  to  the  Casino 
to  meet  my  friend,  Madame  Wolsky." 

After  they  had  finished  dinner  most  of  M.  Folperro's 
guests  streamed  out  into  the  garden;  and  there  coffee 
was  served  to  them  on  little  round  iron  tables  dotted 
about  on  the  broad  green  lawn  and  sanded  paths. 

One  or  two  of  the  ladies  spoke  a  kindly  word  to  Sylvia 
as  they  parsed  by  her,  but  each  had  a  friend  or  friends, 
and  she  was  once  more  feeling  lonely  and  deserted  when 
suddenly  Count  Paul  de  Virieu  walked  across  to  where 
she  was  sitting  by  herself. 

Again  he  clicked  his  heels  together,   and   again  he 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         65 

bowed  low.  But  already  Sylvia  was  getting  used  to 
these  strange  foreign  ways,  and  she  no  longer  felt  in- 
clined to  laugh;  in  fact,  she  rather  liked  the  young 
Frenchman's  grave,  respectful  manner. 

"  If,  as  I  suppose,  Madame,  seeing  that  you  have  come 
back  to  Lacville " 

Sylvia  looked  up  with  surprise  painted  on  her  fair  face, 
for  the  Count  was  speaking  in  English,  and  it  was  ex- 
tremely good,  almost  perfect  English. 

" and  you  wish  to  join  the  Club  at  the  Casino,  I 

hope,  Madame,  that  you  will  allow  me  to  have  the 
honour  of  proposing  you  as  a  member."  ''^ 

He  waited  a  moment,  and  then  went  on:  "It  is  far 
better  for  a  lady  to  be  introduced  by  someone  who  is 
already  a  member,  than  for  the  affair  to  be  managed" — 
he  slightly  lowered  his  voice — "by  an  hotel  keeper.  I 
am  well  known  to  the  Casino  authorities.  I  have  been 
a  member  of  the  Club  for  some  time "  "^ 

He  stood  still  gazing  thoughtfully  down  into  her  face. 

"But  I  am  not  yet  sure  that  I  shall  join  the  Club," 
said  Sylvia,  hesitatingly. 

He  looked — was  it  relieved  or  sorry? 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Madame!  I  misunderstood.  I 
thought  you  told  M.  Polperro  just  now  in  the  dining-room 
that  you  were  going  to  the  Casino  this  evening." 

Sylvia  felt  somewhat  surprised.  It  was  odd  that  he 
should  have  overheard  her  words  to  M.  Polperro,  amid  all 
the  chatter  of  their  fellow-guests. 

"Yes,  I  am  going  to  the  Casino,"  she  said  frankly,  "but 
only  to  meet  a  friend  of  mine  there,  the  lady  with  whom 
I  was  the  other  day  when  you  so  kindly  interfered  to  save 


66  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

US,  or  rather  to  save  me,  from  being  ignominiously  turned 
out  of  the  Club."  And  then  she  added,  a  Uttle  shyly, 
"Won't  you  sit  down?" 

Again  the  Comte  de  Virieu  bowed  low  before  her,  and 
then  he  sat  down. 

"I  fear  you  will  not  be  allowed  to  go  into  the  Gub 
this  time  unless  you  become  a  member.  They  have  to 
be  very  strict  in  these  matters;  to  allow  a  stranger  in 
the  Club  at  all  is  a  legal  infraction.  The  Casino  authori- 
ties might  be  fined  for  doing  so." 

"How  well  you  speak  English!"  exclaimed  Sylvia, 
abruptly  and  irrelevantly. 

"I  was  at  school  in  England,"  he  said,  simply,  "at  a 
Catholic  College  called  Beaumont,  near  Windsor;  but 
now  I  do  not  go  there  as  often  as  I  should  like  to  do." 

And  then,  scarcely  knowing  how  it  came  about,  Sylvia 
fell  into  easy,  desultory,  almost  intimate  talk  with  this 
entire  stranger.  But  there  was  something  very  agree- 
able in  his  simple  serious  manners. 

After  a  while  Sylvia  suddenly  remembered  that  the 
Count  had  thrown  his  cigarette  away  before  speaking  to 
her. 

"Won't  you  smoke?"  she  said. 

"Are  you  sure  you  don't  mind,  Madame?" 

"No,  of  course  I  don't  mind!"  and  she  was  just  going 
to  add  that  her  husband  had  been  a  great  smoker,  when 
some  feeling  she  could  not  have  analysed  to  herself  made 
her  alter  her  words  to  "My  father  smoked  all  day 
long " 

The  Count  got  up  and  went  off  towards  the  house. 
Sylvia  supposed  he  had  gone  to  get  his  cigarette-case; 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         67 

but  a  moment  later  he  came  back  and  sat  down  by  her 
again.  And  then  very  soon  out  came  the  host's  pretty 
Httle  niece  with  a  shawl  over  her  arm.  "  I  have  brought 
Madame  a  shawl,"  said  the  girl,  smiling,  "for  it's  getting 
a  little  cold,"  and  Sylvia  felt  touched.  How  very  kind 
French  people  were — how  kind  and  how  thoughtful! 

It  struck  half-past  eight.  Mrs.  Bailey  and  the  Comte 
de  Virieu  had  been  talking  for  quite  a  long  time. 

Sylvia  jumped  up.  "I  must  go  now,"  she  cried,  a 
little  regretfully.  "I  promised  to  meet  my  friend  in  the 
hall  of  the  Casino  at  half-past  eight.  She  must  be  there 
waiting  for  me,  now." 

"  If  you  will  allow  me  to  do  so,  I  will  escort  you  to  the 
Casino,"  said  the  Count. 

Sylvia  ran  upstairs  to  put  on  her  hat  and  gloves.  On 
the  table  which  did  duty  for  a  dressing-table  there  was 
a  small  nosegay  of  flowers  in  a  glass  of  water.  It  had  not 
been  there  before  she  had  come  down  to  dinner. 

As  she  put  on  a  large  black  tulle  hat  she  told  herself 
with  a  happy  smile  that  Lacville  was  an  enchanting,  a 
delightful  place,  and  that  she  already  felt  quite  at  home 
here! 

The  Comte  de  Virieu  was  waiting  for  her  in  the  hall. 

"I  think  I  ought  to  introduce  myself  to  you,  Madame," 
he  said  solemnly.     "My  name  is  Paul  de  Virieu." 

"And  mine  is  Sylvia  Bailey,"  she  said,  a  little  breath- 
lessly. 

As  they  were  hurrying  along  the  short  piece  of  road 
which  led  to  the  lane  in  which  the  Casino  of  Lacville  is 
situated,  the  Count  said  suddenly,  "  Will  you  pardon  me, 
Madame,  if  I  take  the  liberty  of  saying  that  you  should 


68  THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

arrange  for  your  friend  to  call  for  you  on  those  evenings 
that  you  intend  to  spend  at  the  Casino?  It  is  not  what 
English  people  call  'proper'  for  you  to  go  to  the  Casino 
alone,  or  only  accompanied  by  a  stranger — for  I,  alas! 
am  still  a  stranger  to  you." 

There  was  no  touch  of  coquetry  or  flirtation  in  the 
voice  in  which  he  said  those  words.  Sylvia  blushed 
violently,  but  she  did  not  feel  annoyed,  only  queerly 
touched  by  his  solicitude  for — well,  she  supposed  it  was 
for  her  reputation. 

"You  see,  Madame,"  he  went  on  soberly,  "you  look 
very  young — I  mean,  pardon  me,  you  are  very  young, 
and  I  wall  confess  to  you  that  the  first  time  I  saw  you  I 
thought  you  were  a  'Miss.'  Of  course,  I  saw  at  once  that 
you  were  English." 

"An  English  girl  w^ould  hardly  have  come  all  by  her- 
self to  Lacville!"  said  Sylvia  a  little  flippantly. 

"Oh,  Madame,  English  young  ladies  do  such  strange 
things!" 

Sylvia  wondered  if  the  Count  were  not  over-particular. 
Was  Lacville  the  sort  of  place  in  which  a  woman  could 
not  walk  a  few  yards  by  herself?  It  looked  such  a  happy, 
innocent  sort  of  spot. 

"Perhaps  I  do  not  make  myself  clear,"  went  on  Count 
Paul. 

He  spoke  very  quickly,  and  in  a  low  voice,  for  they  were 
now  approaching  the  door  of  the  Casino.  "Not  very 
long  ago  a  lady  had  her  hand-bag  snatched  from  her 
within  a  few  yards  of  the  police-station,  in  the  centre  of 
the  town.  Everyone  comes  here  to  make  or  to  lose 
money " 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         69 

"But  most  of  the  people  look  so  quiet  and  respectable," 
she  said  smiling. 

"That  is  true,  but  there  are  the  exceptions.  Lacville 
contains  more  exceptions  than  do  most  places,  Madame." 

They  were  now  in  the  hall  of  the  Casino.  Yes,  there 
was  Anna  Wolsky  looking  eagerly  at  the  great  glass  doors, 

"Anna?    Anna?     Here  I  am!    I'm  so  sorry  I'm  late!" 

Sylvia  turned  to  introduce  the  Comte  de  Virieu  to 
Madame  Wolsky,  but  he  was  already  bowing  stiffly,  and 
before  she  could  speak  he  walked  on,  leaving  Mrs.  Bailey 
with  her  friend. 

"  I  see  you've  already  made  one  acquaintance,  Sylvia," 
said  the  Polish  lady  drily. 

"That's  the  man  who  was  so  kind  the  last  time  we 
were  here  together.  He  is  staying  at  the  Villa  du  Lac," 
Sylvia  answered,  a  little  guiltily.  "His  name  is  Count 
Paul  de  Virieu." 

"Yes,  I  am  aware  of  that;  I  know  him  by  sight  quite 
well,"  Anna  said  quickly. 

"And  he  has  offered  to  propose  me  as  a  member  of 
the  Club  if  I  wish  to  join,"  added  Sylvia. 

"/  shall  propose  you — of  course!"  exclaimed  Anna 
Wolsky.  "But  I  do  not  think  it  is  worth  worrying 
about  your  membership  to-night.  We  can  spend  the 
evening  downstairs,  in  the  public  Salle  des  Jeux.  I 
should  not  care  to  leave  you  alone  there,  even  on  a  Mon- 
day evening." 

"You  talk  as  if  I  were  sugar  or  salt  that  would  melt!" 
said  Sylvia,  a  little  vexed. 

"One  has  to  be  very  careful  in  a  place  like  Lacville," 
said  Anna  shortly.     "There  are  all  sorts  of  queer  people 


70         THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

gathered  together  here  on  the  look-out  for  an  easy  way 
of  making  money."  She  turned  an  affectionate  look  on 
her  friend.  "You  are  not  only  very  pretty,  my  dear 
Sylvia,  but  you  look  what  the  people  here  probably  re- 
gard as  being  of  far  more  consequence,  that  is,  opulent." 
"So  I  am,"  said  Syhia  gaily,  "opulent  and  very,  very 
happy,  dear  Anna!  I  am  so  glad  that  you  brought  me 
here,  and  first  made  me  acquainted  with  this  delightful 
place!  I  am  sure  Switzerland  would  not  have  been  half 
as  amusing  as  Lacville " 

The  public  gambling  room  was  much  quieter  and 
emptier  than  it  had  been  on  the  Saturday  when  Sylvia 
had  first  seen  it.  But  all  the  people  playing  there,  both 
those  sitting  at  the  table  and  those  who  stood  in  serried 
ranks  behind  them,  looked  as  if  they  were  engaged  on 
some  serious  undertaking. 

They  did  not  appear,  as  the  casual  holiday  crowd  had 
done,  free  from  care.  There  was  comparatively  little 
talking  among  them,  and  each  round  of  the  monotonous 
game  was  got  through  far  quicker  than  had  been  the 
case  the  week  before.  Money  was  risked,  lost,  or  gained, 
with  extraordinary  swiftness  and  precision. 

A  good  many  of  the  people  there,  women  as  well  as  men, 
glanced  idly  for  a  moment  at  the  two  newcomers,  but 
they  soon  looked  away  again,  intent  on  their  play. 

Sylvia  felt  keenly  interested.  She  could  have  stopped 
and  watched  the  scene  for  hours  without  wanting  to 
play  herself;  but  Anna  Wolsky  soon  grew  restless,  and 
started  plajdng.  Even  risking  a  few  francs  was  better 
to  her  than  not  gambling  at  all! 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         71 

"It's  an  odd  thing,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "but  I 
don't  see  here  any  of  the  people  I'm  accustomed  to  see 
at  IMonte  Carlo.  As  a  rule,  whenever  one  goes  to  this 
kind  of  place  one  meets  people  one  has  seen  before.  We 
gamblers  are  a  caste — a  sect  part!" 

"I  can't  bear  to  hear  you  call  yourself  a  gambler," 
said  Sylvia  in  a  low  voice. 

Anna  laughed  good-humouredly. 

"Believe  me,  my  dear,  there  is  not  the  difference  you 
apparently  think  there  is  between  a  gambler  and  the  man 
who  has  never  touched  a  card." 

Anna  Wolsky  looked  round  her  as  she  spoke  with  a 
searching  glance,  and  then  she  suddenly  exclaimed, 

"Yes,  I  do  know  someone  here  ^ter  all!  That  funny- 
looking  couple  over  there  were  at  Aix-les-Bains  all  last 
summer." 

"Which  people  do  you  mean?"  asked  Sylvia  eagerly. 

"Don't  you  see  that  long,  thin  man  who  is  so  queerly 
dressed — and  his  short,  fat  wife?  A  dreadful  thing  hap- 
pened to  them — a  great  friend  of  theirs,  a  Russian,  was 
drowned  in  Lac  Bourget.  It  made  a  great  deal  of  talk 
in  Aix  at  the  time  it  happened." 

Sylvia  Bailey  looked  across  the  room.  She  was  able 
to  pick  out  in  a  moment  the  people  Anna  meant,  and 
perhaps  because  she  was  in  good  spirits  to-night,  she 
smiled  involuntarily  at  their  rather  odd  appearance. 

Standing  just  behind  the  croupier — whose  task  it  is  to 
rake  in  and  to  deal  out  the  money — was  a  short,  stout, 
dark  woman,  dressed  in  a  bright  purple  gown,  and  wear- 
ing a  pale  blue  bonnet  particularly  unbecoming  to  her 
red,  massive  face.     She  was  not  paying  much  attention 


72  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

to  the  play,  though  now  and  again  she  put  a  five-franc 
piece  onto  the  green  baize.  Instead,  her  eyes  were  glan- 
cing round  restlessly  this  way  and  that,  almost  as  if  she 
were  seeking  for  someone. 

Behind  her,  in  strong  contrast  to  herself,  was  a  tall, 
thin,  lanky  man,  to  Sylvia's  English  eyes  absurdly  as 
well  as  unsuitably  dressed  in  a  grey  alpaca  suit  and  a 
shabby  Panama  hat.  In  his  hand  he  held  open  a  small 
book,  in  which  he  noted  down  all  the  turns  of  the  game. 
Unlike  his  short,  stout  wife,  this  tall,  thin  man  seemed 
quite  uninterested  in  the  people  about  him,  and  Sylvia 
could  see  his  lips  moving,  his  brows  frowning,  as  if  he 
were  absorbed  in  some  intricate  and  difficult  calculation. 

The  couple  looked  different  from  the  people  about 
them;  in  a  word,  they  did  not  look  French. 

"The  man — their  name  is  Wachner — only  plays  on  a 
system,"  whispered  Anna.  "He  is  in  fact  what  I  call  a 
System  Maniac.  That  is  why  he  keeps  noting  down  the 
turns  in  his  little  book.  That  sort  of  gambler  ought 
never  to  leave  Monte  Carlo.  It  is  only  at  Monte  Carlo 
— that  is  to  say,  at  Roulette — that  such  a  man  ever  gets 
a  real  chance  of  winning  anything.  I  should  have  ex- 
pected them  to  belong  to  the  Club,  and  not  to  trouble 
over  this  kind  of  play!" 

Even  as  she  spoke,  Anna  slightly  inchned  her  head, 
and  the  woman  at  whom  they  were  both  looking  smiled 
broadly,  showing  her  strong  white  teeth  as  she  did  so; 
and  then,  as  her  eyes  travelled  from  Anna  Wolsky  to 
Anna's  companion,  they  became  intent  and  questioning. 

Madame  Wachner,  in  spite  of  her  unwieldy  form,  and 
common,  showy  clothes,  was  fond  of  beautiful  things. 


THE   CHINK  TN  THE   ARMOUR  73 

and  especially  fond  of  jewels.  She  was  wondering 
whether  the  pearls  worn  by  the  lovely  young  English- 
woman standing  opposite  were  real  or  sham. 

The  two  friends  did  not  stay  very  long  in  the  Casino 
on  that  first  evening.  Sylvia  drove  Anna  to  the  Pension 
Malfait,  and  then  she  came  back  alone  to  the  Villa  du 
I.ac. 

Before  drawing  together  the  curtains  of  her  bed-room 
windows,  Sylvia  Bailey  stood  for  some  minutes  looking 
out  into  the  warm  moonlit  night. 

On  the  dark  waters  of  the  lake  floated  miniature  argo- 
sies, laden  with  lovers  seeking  happiness — ay,  and  perhaps 
finding  it,  too. 

The  Casino  was  outlined  with  fairy  lamps;  the  scene 
was  full  of  glamour,  and  of  mysterious  beauty.  More 
than  ever  Sylvia  was  reminded  of  an  exquisite  piece,  of 
scene  painting,  and  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  were  the 
heroine  of  a  romantic  opera — and  the  hero,  with  his 
ardent  eyes  and  melancholy,  intelligent  face,  was  Count 
Paul  de  Virieu. 

She  wondered  uneasily  why  Anna  Wolsky  had  spoken 
of  the  Count  as  she  had  done — was  it  with  dislike  or  only 
contempt? 

Long  after  Sylvia  was  in  bed  she  could  hear  the  tramp- 
ing made  by  the  feet  of  those  who  were  leaving  the  Casino 
and  hurrying  towards  the  station;  but  she  did  not  mind 
the  sound.  All  was  so  strange,  new,  and  delightful,  and 
she  fell  asleep  and  dreamt  pleasant  dreams. 


CHAPTER  VI 

On  waking  the  next  morning,  Sylvia  Bailey  forgot 
completely  for  a  moment  where  she  was. 

She  looked  round  the  large,  airy  room,  which  was  so 
absolutely  unlike  the  small  bed-room  she  had  occupied 
in  the  Hotel  de  I'Horloge,  with  a  sense  of  bewilderment 
and  surprise. 

And  then  suddenly  she  remembered!  Why  of  course 
she  was  at  Lacville;  and  this  delightful,  luxurious  room 
had  been  furnished  and  arranged  for  the  lady-in-waiting 
and  friend  of  the  Empress  Eugenie.  The  fact  gave  an 
added  touch  of  romance  to  the  Hotel  du  Lac. 

A  ray  of  bright  sunlight  streamed  in  through  the  cur- 
tains she  had  pinned  together  the  night  before.  And  her 
travelling  clock  told  her  that  it  was  not  yet  six.  But 
Sylvia  jumped  out  of  bed,  and,  drawing  back  the  curtains, 
she  looked  out,  and  across  the  lake. 

The  now  solitary  expanse  of  water  seemed  to  possess 
a  new  beauty  in  the  early  morning  sunlight,  and  the  white 
Casino,  of  which  the  minarets  were  reflected  in  its  blue 
depths,  might  have  been  a  dream  palace.  Nothing 
broke  the  intense  stillness  but  the  loud,  sweet  twittering 
of  the  birds  in  the  trees  which  surrounded  the  lake. 

But  soon  the  spell  was  broken.  When  the  six  strokes 
of  the  hour  chimed  out  from  the  old  parish  church  which 
forms  the  centre  of  the  town  of  Lacville,  as  if  by  enchant- 
ment there  rose  sounds  of  stir  both  indoors  and  out. 

74 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         75 

A  woman  came  out  of  the  lodge  of  the  Villa  du  Lac, 
and  slowly  opened  the  great  steel  and  gilt  gates. 

Sylvia  heard  the  rush  of  bath  water,  even  the  queer 
click-click  of  a  shower  bath.  M.  Polperro  evidently  in- 
sisted on  an  exceptional  standard  of  cleanliness  for  his 
household. 

Sylvia  felt  fresh  and  well.  The  languor  induced  by  the 
heat  of  Paris  had  left  her.  There  seemed  no  reason  why 
she  should  not  get  up  too,  and  even  go  out  of  doors  if  so 
the  fancy  pleased  her. 

She  had  just  finished  dressing  when  there  came  curious 
sounds  from  the  front  of  the  Villa,  and  again  she  went 
over  to  her  window. 

A  horse  was  being  walked  up  and  down  on  the  stones 
of  the  courtyard  in  front  of  the  horseshoe  stairway  which 
led  up  to  the  hall  door.  It  was  not  yet  half-past  six.  Who 
could  be  going  to  ride  at  this  early  hour  of  the  morning? 

Soon  her  unspoken  question  was  answered;  for  the 
Comte  de  Virieu,  clad  in  riding  breeches  and  a  black 
jersey,  came  out  of  the  house,  and  close  on  his  heels 
trotted  M.  Polperro,  already  wearing  his  white  chef's 
cap  and  apron. 

Sylvia  could  hear  his  "M'sieur  le  Comte"  this,  and 
"M'sieur  le  Comte"  that,  and  she  smiled  a  Httle  to  her- 
self. The  owner  of  the  Hotel  du  Lac  was  very  proud 
of  his  noble  guest. 

The  Comte  de  Virieu  was  also  laughing  and  talking; 
he  was  more  animated  than  she  had  yet  seen  him. 
Sylvia  told  herself  that  he  looked  very  well  in  his  rather 
odd  riding  dress. 

Waving  a  gay  adieu  to  mine  host,  he  vaulted  into  the 


76  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

saddle,  and  then  rode  out  of  the  gates,  and  so  sharply 
to  the  left. 

Sylvia  wondered  if  he  were  going  for  a  ride  in  the 
Forest  of  ]Montmorency,  which,  in  her  lying  guide-book, 
was  mentioned  as  the  principal  attraction  of  Lacville. 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Sylvia,  calling 
out  "Come  in!"  was  surprised,  and  rather  amused,  to 
see  that  it  was  M.  Polperro  himself  who  opened  it. 

"I  have  come  to  ask  if  Madame  has  slept  well,"  he 
observed,  "  and  also  to  know  if  she  would  like  an  English 
breakfast?  If  yes,  it  shall  be  laid  in  the  dining-room, 
unless  Madame  would  rather  have  it  up  here." 

"I  would  much  rather  come  downstairs  to  breakfast, 
said  Sylvia;  "but  I  do  not  want  anything  yet,  M.  Pol- 
perro. It  will  do  quite  well  if  I  have  breakfast  at  half- 
past  eight  or  nine." 

She  unpacked  her  trunks,  and  as  she  put  her  things 
away  it  suddenly  struck  her  that  she  meant  to  stay  at 
Lacville  for  some  time.  It  was  an  interesting,  a  new, 
even  a  striking  experience,  this  of  hers;  and  though  she 
felt  rather  lost  without  Anna  Wolsky's  constant  presence 
and  companionship,  she  was  beginning  to  find  it  pleasant 
to  be  once  more  her  own  mistress. 

She  sat  down  and  WTote  some  letters — the  sort  of 
letters  that  can  be  written  or  not  as  the  writer  feels  in- 
clined. Among  them  was  a  duty  letter  to  her  trustee, 
Bill  Chester,  telling  him  of  her  change  of  address,  and  of 
her  change  of  plan. 

The  people  with  whom  she  had  been  going  to  Switzer- 
land were  friends  of  Bill  Chester  too,  and  so  it  was  doubt- 
ful now  whether  he  would  go  abroad  at  all. 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         77 

And  all  the  time  Sylvia  was  writing  there  was  at  the 
back  of  her  mind  a  curious,  unacknowledged  feeling  that 
she  was  waiting  for  something  to  happen,  that  there  was 
something  pleasant  for  her  to  look  forward  to.  .  .  . 

And  when  at  last  she  went  down  into  the  dining-room, 
and  Paul  de  Virieu  came  in,  Sylvia  suddenly  realised, 
with  a  sense  of  curious  embarrassment,  what  it  was  she 
had  been  waiting  for  and  looking  forward  to.  It  was  her 
meeting  with  the  Comte  de  Virieu. 

"I  hope  my  going  out  so  early  did  not  disturb  you," 
he  said,  in  his  excellent  English.  "I  saw  you  at  your 
window." 

Sylvia  shook  her  head,  smiling. 

"I  had  already  been  awake  for  at  least  half  an  hour," 
she  answered. 

"I  suppose  you  ride?  Most  of  the  Englishwomen  I 
knew  as  a  boy  rode,  and  rode  well." 

"My  father  was  very  anxious  I  should  ride,  and  as  a 
child  I  was  well  taught,  but  I  have  not  had  much  oppor- 
tunity of  riding  since  I  grew  up." 

Sylvia  reddened  faintly,  for  she  fully  expected  the 
Count  to  ask  her  if  she  would  ride  with  him,  and  she  had 
already  made  up  her  mind  to  say  "No,"  though  to  say 
"Yes"  would  be  very  pleasant! 

But  he  did  nothing  of  the  sort.  Even  at  this  early 
hour  of  their  acquaintance  it  struck  Sylvia  how  unlike 
the  Comte  de  Virieu 's  manner  to  her  was  to  that  of  the 
other  young  men  she  knew.  While  his  manner  was 
deferential,  even  eager,  yet  there  was  not  a  trace  of  flirta- 
tion in  it.  Also  the  Count  had  already  altered  all  Sylvia 
Bailey's  preconceived  notions  of  Frenchmen. 


78  THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR 

Sylvia  had  supposed  a  Frenchman's  manner  to  a 
woman  to  be  almost  invariably  familiar,  in  fact,  offen- 
sively familiar.  She  had  had  the  notion  that  a  pretty 
young  woman — it  would,  of  course,  have  been  absurd  for 
her  to  have  denied,  even  to  herself,  that  she  was  very 
pretty — must  be  careful  in  her  dealing  with  foreigners, 
and  she  believed  it  to  be  a  fact  that  a  Frenchman  always 
makes  love  to  an  attractive  stranger,  even  on  the  shortest 
acquaintance ! 

This  morning,  and  she  was  a  little  piqued  that  it  was 
so,  Sylvia  had  to  admit  to  herself  that  the  Comte  de 
Virieu  treated  her  much  as  he  might  have  done  some  old 
lady  in  whom  he  took  a  respectful  interest.  .  .  . 

And  yet  twice  during  the  half-hour  her  breakfast 
lasted  she  looked  up  to  see  his  blue  eyes  fixed  full  on 
her  with  an  earnest,  inquiring  gaze,  and  she  realised 
that  it  was  not  at  all  the  kind  of  gaze  Paul  de  Virieu 
would  have  turned  on  an  old  lady. 

They  got  up  from  their  respective  tables  at  the  same 
moment.  He  opened  the  door  for  her,  and  then,  after  a 
few  minutes,  followed  her  out  into  the  garden. 

"Have  you  yet  visited  the  potagerf"  he  asked,  defer- 
entially. 

Sylvia  looked  at  him,  puzzled.  "  Potager*'  was  quite  a 
new  French  word  to  her. 

"I  think  you  call  it  the  kitchen-garden."  A  smile  lit 
up  his  face.  "The  people  who  built  the  Villa  du  Lac  a 
matter  of  fifty  years  ago  were  very  fond  of  gardening.  I 
think  it  might  amuse  you  to  see  the  potager.  Allow  me 
to  show  it  you." 

They  were  now  walking  side  by  side.    It  was  a  delicious 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         79 

day,  and  the  dew  still  glistened  on  the  grass  and  leaves. 
Sylvia  thought  it  would  be  very  pleasant,  and  also  in- 
structive, to  see  a  French  kitchen-garden. 

"Strange  to  say  when  I  was  a  child  I  was  often  at  the 
Villa  du  Lac,  for  the  then  owner  was  a  distant  cousin  of 
my  mother.  He  and  his  kind  wife  allowed  me  to  come 
here  for  my  convalescence  after  a  rather  serious  illness 
when  I  was  ten  years  old.  My  dear  mother  did  not  like 
me  to  be  far  from  Paris,  so  I  was  sent  to  Lacville." 

"What  a  curious  place  to  send  a  child  to!"  exclaimed 
Sylvia. 

"Ah,  but  Lacville  was  extremely  different  from  what 
it  is  now,  ]\ladame.  True,  there  was  the  lake,  where 
Parisians  used  to  come  out  each  Sunday  afternoon  to 
fish  and  boat  in  a  humble  way,  and  there  were  a  few 
villas  built  round  the  lake.  But  }^ou  must  remember 
that  in  those  prehistoric  days  there  was  no  Casino!  It 
is  the  Casino  which  has  transformed  Lacville  into  what 
we  now  see." 

"Then  we  have  reason  to  bless  the  Casino!"  cried 
Sylvia,  gaily. 

They  had  now  left  behind  them  the  wide  lawn  imme- 
diately behind  the  Villa  du  Lac,  and  were  walking  by  a 
long,  high  wall.  The  Count  pushed  open  a  narrow  door 
set  in  an  arch  in  the  wall,  and  Sylvia  walked  through 
into  one  of  the  largest  and  most  delightful  kitchen- 
gardens  she  had  ever  seen. 

It  was  brilliant  with  colour  and  scent;  the  more  homely 
summer  flowers  filled  the  borders,  while,  at  each  place 
where  four  paths  met,  a  round,  stone-rimmed  basin,  filled 
with  water  to  the  brim,  gave  a  sense  of  pleasant  coolness. 


80         THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

The  farther  end  of  the  walled  garden  was  bounded  by 
a  stone  orangery,  a  building  dating  from  the  eighteenth 
century,  and  full  of  the  stately  grace  of  a  vanished 
epoch. 

"^^^lat  a  delightful  place!"  Sylvia  exclaimed.  "But 
this  garden  must  cost  M.  Polperro  a  great  deal  of  money 
to  keep  up " 

The  Comte  de  Virieu  laughed. 

"Far  from  it!  Our  clever  host  hires  out  his  yotager 
to  a  firm  of  market  gardeners,  part  of  the  bargain  being 
that  they  allow  him  to  have  as  much  fruit  and  vegetables 
as  he  requires  throughout  the  year.  Why,  the  potager  of 
the  Villa  du  Lac  supplies  the  whole  of  Lacville  with  fruit 
and  flowers!  When  I  was  a  child  I  thought  this  part  of 
the  garden  paradise,  and  I  spent  here  my  happiest 
hours." 

"  It  must  be  very  odd  for  you  to  come  back  and  stay 
in  the  Villa  now  that  it  is  an  hotel." 

"At  first  it  seemed  very  strange,"  he  answered  gravely. 
*'But  now  I  have  become  quite  used  to  the  feeling." 

They  walked  on  for  awhile  along  one  of  the  narrow 
flower-bordered  paths. 

"Would  you  care  to  go  into  the  orangery?"  he  said. 
"There  is  not  much  to  see  there  now,  for  all  the  orange- 
trees  are  out  of  doors.  Still,  it  is  a  quaint,  pretty  old 
building." 

The  orangery  of  the  Villa  du  Lac  was  an  example  of 
that  at  once  artificial  and  graceful  eighteenth-century 
architecture  which,  perhaps  because  of  its  mingled  for- 
mality and  delicacy,  made  so  distinguished  and  attractive 
a  setting  to  feminine  beauty.     It  remained,  the  only  sur- 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         81 

vival  of  the  dep)endencies  of  a  chateau  sacked  and  burned 
in  the  Great  Revolution,  more  than  half  a  century  before 
the  Villa  du  Lac  was  built. 

The  high  doors  were  wide  open,  and  Sylvia  walked  in. 
Though  all  the  pot-plants  and  half-hardy  shrubs  were 
sunning  themselves  in  the  open-air,  the  orangery  did  not 
look  bare,  for  every  inch  of  the  inside  walls  had  been 
utilised  for  growing  grapes  and  peaches. 

There  was  a  fountain  set  in  the  centre  of  the  stone 
floor,  and  near  the  fountain  was  a  circular  seat. 

"Let  us  sit  down,"  said  Paul  de  Virieu  suddenly.  But 
when  Sylvia  Bailey  sat  down  he  did  not  come  and  sit  by 
her,  instead  he  so  placed  himself  that  he  looked  across 
at  her  slender,  rounded  figure,  and  happy  smiling  face. 

"Are  you  thinking  of  staying  long  at  Lacville,  Mad- 
ame? "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered  hesitatingly.  "It  will 
depend  on  my  friend  Madame  Wolsky's  plans.  If  we 
both  like  it,  I  daresay  we  shall  stay  three  or  four  weeks." 

There  fell  what  seemed  to  Sylvia  a  long  silence  be- 
tween them.  The  Frenchman  was  gazing  at  her  with  a 
puzzled,  thoughtful  look. 

Suddenly  he  got  up,  and  after  taking  a  turn  up  and 
down  the  orangery,  he  came  and  stood  before  her. 

"Mrs.  Bailey!"  he  exclaimed.  "Will  you  permit  me 
to  be  rather  impertinent?" 

Sylvia  reddened  violently.  The  question  took  her 
utterly  by  surprise.  But  the  Comte  de  Virieu's  next 
words  at  once  relieved,  and  yes,  it  must  be  admitted, 
chagrined  her. 

"I  ask  you,  Madame,  to  leave  Lacville!     I  ask  per- 


82  THE   CHINK  IX  THE   ARMOUR 

mission  to  tell  you  frankly  and  plainly  that  it  is  not  a 
place  to  which  you  ought  to  have  been  brought." 

He  spoke  with  great  emphasis. 

Sylvia  looked  up  at  him.  She  was  bewildered,  and 
though  not  exactly  offended,  rather  hurt. 

"But  why?"  she  asked  plaintively.  "Why  should  I 
not  stay  at  Lacville?" 

"Oh,  well,  there  can  be  no  harm  in  your  stajang  on  a 
few  days  if  you  are  desirous  of  doing  so.  But  Lacville  is 
not  a  place  where  I  should  care  for  my  own  sister  to  come 
and  stay."  He  went  on,  speaking  much  quicker — "Indeed, 
I  will  say  more !  I  will  tell  you  that  Lacville  may  seem  a 
paradise  to  you,  but  that  it  is  a  paradise  full  of  snakes." 

"Snakes?"  repeated  Sylvia  slowly.  "You  mean,  of 
course,  human  snakes?" 

He  bowed  gravely. 

"  Ever}^  town  where  reigns  the  Goddess  of  play  attracts 
reptiles,  Madame,  as  the  sun  attracts  lizards!  It  is  not 
the  game  that  does  so,  or  even  the  love  of  play  in  the 
Goddess's  victims;  no,  it  is  the  love  of  gold!" 

Sylvia  noticed  that  he  had  grown  curiously  pale. 

"Lacville  as  a  gambling  centre  counts  only  next  to 
IVIonte  Carlo.  But  whereas  many  people  go  to  Monte 
Carlo  for  health,  and  for  various  forms  of  amusement, 
people  only  come  here  in  order  to  play,  and  to  see  others 
play.  The  Casino,  which  doubtless  appears  to  you  a 
bright,  pretty  place,  has  been  the  scene  and  the  cause  of 
many  a  tragedy.  Do  you  know  how  Paris  regards  Lac- 
ville?" he  asked  searchingly. 

"  No — yes, "  Sylvia  hesitated.  "  You  see  I  never  heard 
of  Lacville  till  about  a  week  ago."     Innate  honesty  com- 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  83 

pelled  her  to  add,  "But  I  have  heard  that  the  Paris 
trades-people  don't  like  Lacville." 

"Let  me  tell  you  one  thing,"  the  Count  spoke  with 
extraordinary  seriousness.  "Every  tradesman  in  Paris, 
without  a  single  exception,  has  signed  a  petition  imploring 
the  Government  to  suspend  the  Gambling  Concession!" 

"What  an  extraordinary  thing!"  exclaimed  Sylvia,  and 
she  was  surprised  indeed. 

"Pardon  me,  it  is  not  at  all  extraordinary.  A  great 
deal  of  the  money  which  would  otherwise  go  into  the 
pockets  of  these  tradesmen  goes  now  to  enrich  the  anon- 
ymous shareholders  of  the  Casino  of  Lacville!  Of  course, 
Paris  hotel-keepers  are  not  in  quite  the  same  position  as 
are  the  other  Parisian  trades-people.  Lacville  does  not  do 
them  much  harm,  for  the  place  is  so  near  Paris  that  for- 
eigners, if  they  go  there  at  all,  generally  go  out  for  the 
day.  Only  the  most  confirmed  gambler  cares  actually 
to  lide  at  Lacville." 

He  looked  significantly  at  Sylvia,  and  she  felt  a  wave 
of  hot  colour  break  over  her  face. 

"Yes,  I  know  what  you  must  be  thinking,  and  it  is, 
indeed,  the  shameful  truth!  I,  Madame,  have  the  mis- 
fortune to  be  that  most  miserable  and  most  God-forsaken 
of  living  beings,  a  confirmed  gambler." 

The  Count  spoke  in  a  tone  of  stifled  pain,  almost  anger, 
and  Sylvia  gazed  up  at  his  stern,  sad  face  with  pity  and 
concern  filling  her  kind  heart. 

"I  will  tell  you  my  story  in  a  few  words,"  he  went  on, 
and  then  he  sat  down  by  her,  and  began  tracing  with  his 
stick  imaginary  patterns  on  the  stone  floor. 

"I  was  destined  for  what  I  still  regard  as  the  most 


84         THE  CHINK  IX  THE  ARMOUR 

agreeable  career  in  the  world — that  of  diplomacy.  You 
see  how  I  speak  English?  Well,  Madame,  I  speak  Ger- 
man and  Spanish  equally  well.  And  then,  most  mihappily 
for  me,  my  beloved  mother  died,  and  I  inherited  from  her 
a  few  thousand  pounds.  I  felt  very  miserable,  and  I 
happened  to  be  at  the  moment  idle.  A  friend  persuaded 
me  to  go  to  Monte  Carlo.  That  fortnight,  Madame, 
changed  my  life — made  me  what  the  English  call  '  an  idle 
good-for-nothing.'  Can  you  wonder  that  I  warn  you 
against  staying  at  Lacville?" 

Sylvia  was  touched,  as  well  as  surprised,  by  his  confi- 
dences. His  words  breathed  sincerity,  and  the  look  of 
humiliation  and  pain  on  his  face  had  deepened.  He 
looked  white  and  drawn. 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  tell  me  this,  and  I  am  very 
much  obliged  to  you  for  your  warning,"  she  said  in  a  low 
tone. 

But  the  Comte  de  Virieu  went  on  as  if  he  hardly  heard 
her  words. 

"The  lady  with  whom  you  first  came  to  Lacville — I 
mean  the  Polish  lady — is  well  known  to  me  by  sight. 
For  the  last  three  years  I  have  seen  her  at  Monte  Carlo 
in  the  winter,  and  at  Spa  and  Aix-les-Bains  in  the  summer. 
Of  course  I  was  not  at  all  surprised  to  see  her  turn  up 
here,  but  I  confess,  Madame,  that  I  was  very  much  aston- 
ished to  see  with  her  a" — he  hesitated  a  moment — "a 
young  English  lady.  You  would,  perhaps,  be  offended 
if  I  were  to  tell  you  exactly  what  I  felt  when  I  saw  you 
at  the  Casino!" 

"I  do  not  suppose  I  should  be  offended,"  said  Sylvia 
softly. 


THE   CHINK   TN  THE   ARMOCTl  85 

"I  felt,  Madame,  as  if  I  saw  a  lily  growing  in  a  field 
of  high,  rank,  evil-smelling — nay,  perhaps  I  should  say, 
poisonous — weeds." 

"But  I  cannot  go  away  now!"  cried  Sylvia.  She  was 
really  impressed — very  uncomfortably  impressed — by  his 
earnest  words.  "  It  would  be  most  unkind  to  my  friend, 
Madame  Wolsky.  Surely,  it  is  possible  to  stay  at  Lac- 
ville,  and  even  to  play  a  little,  without  anything  very 
terrible  happening?"  She  looked  at  him  coaxingly,  anx- 
iously, as  a  child  might  have  done. 

But  Sylvia  was  not  a  child;  she  was  a  very  lovely 
young  woman.  Comte  Paul  de  Virieu's  heart  began  to 
beat. 

But,  bah !  Tliis  was  absurd !  His  day  of  love  and  love- 
making  lay  far,  far  behind  him.  He  rose  and  walked 
towards  the  door. 

In  speaking  to  her  as  he  had  forced  himself  to  speak, 
the  Frenchman  had  done  an  unselfish  and  kindly  action. 
Sylvia's  gentle  and  unsophisticated  charm  had  touched 
him  deeply,  and  so  he  had  given  her  what  he  knew  to 
be  the  best  possible  advice. 

"I  am  not  so  foolish  as  to  pretend  that  the  people 
who  come  and  play  in  the  Casino  of  Lacville  are  all  con- 
firmed gamblers,"  he  said,  slowly.  "We  French  take 
our  pleasures  lightly,  Madame,  and  no  doubt  there  is 
many  an  excellent  Parisian  bourgeois  who  comes  here 
and  makes  or  loses  his  few  francs,  and  gets  no  harn^ 
from  it.  But,  still,  I  swore  to  myself  that  I  would  warn 
you  of  the  danger " 

They  went  out  into  the  bright  sunshine  again,  and 
Sylvia  somehow  felt  as  if  she  had  made  a  friend — a  real 


86  THE   CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

friend — in  the  Comte  de  Virieu.  It  was  a  curious  sen- 
sation, and  one  that  gave  her  more  pleasure  than  she 
would  have  cared  to  own  even  to  herself. 

Most  of  the  men  she  had  met  since  she  became  a  widow 
treated  her  as  an  irresponsible  being.  Many  of  them 
tried  to  flirt  with  her  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  flirting 
with  so  pretty  a  woman;  others,  so  she  was  resentfully 
aware,  had  only  become  really  interested  in  her  when  they 
became  aware  that  she  had  been  left  by  her  husband  with 
an  income  of  two  thousand  pounds  a  year.  She  had  had 
several  offers  of  marriage  since  her  widowhood,  but  not 
one  of  the  men  who  had  come  and  said  he  loved  her  had 
confessed  as  much  about  himself  as  this  stranger  had  done. 

She  was  the  more  touched  and  interested  because  the 
Frenchman's  manner  was  extremely  reserved.  Even  in 
the  short  time  she  had  been  at  the  Villa  du  Lac,  Sylvia 
had  realised  that  though  the  Count  was  on  speaking 
terms  with  most  of  his  fellow-guests,  he  seemed  intimate 
with  none  of  the  people  whose  happy  chatter  had  filled 
the  dining-room  the  night  before. 

Just  before  going  back  into  the  Villa,  Sylvia  stopped 
short;  she  fixed  her  large  ingenuous  eyes  on  the  Count's 
face. 

"  I  want  to  thank  you  again,"  she  said  diffidently,  "  for 
your  kindness  in  giving  me  this  warning.  You  know  we 
in  England  have  a  proverb,  'Forewarned  is  forearmed.' 
Well,  believe  me,  I  will  not  forget  what  you  have  said, 
and — and  I  am  grateful  for  your  confidence.  Of  course, 
I  regard  it  as  quite  private." 

The  Count  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in  silence,  and 
then  he  said  very  deliberately, 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  87 

"I  am  afraid  the  truth  about  me  is  known  to  all  those 
good  enough  to  concern  themselves  with  my  affairs.  I 
am  sure,  for  instance,  that  your  Polish  friend  is  well 
aware  of  it!  You  see  before  you  a  man  who  has  lost 
every  penny  he  owned  in  the  world,  who  does  not  know 
how  to  work,  and  who  is  living  on  the  charity  of  rela- 
tions." 

Sylvia  had  never  heard  such  bitter  accents  issue  from 
human  lips  before. 

"The  horse  you  saw  me  ride  this  morning,"  he  went 
on  in  a  low  tone,  "is  not  my  horse;  it  belongs  to  my 
brother-in-law.  It  is  sent  for  me  every  day  because  my 
sister  loves  me,  and  she  thinks  my  health  will  suffer  if 
I  do  not  take  exercise.  My  brother-in-law  did  not  give 
me  the  horse,  though  he  is  the  most  generous  of  human 
beings,  for  he  feared  that  if  he  did  I  should  sell  it  in 
order  that  I  might  have  more  money  for  play." 

There  was  a  long,  painful  pause,  then  in  a  lighter  tone 
the  Count  added,  "And  now,  au  revoir,  Madame,  and 
forgive  me  for  having  thrust  my  private  affairs  on  your 
notice !  It  is  not  a  thing  I  have  been  tempted  ever  to  do 
before  with  one  whom  I  have  the  honour  of  knowing  as 
slightly  as  I  know  yourself." 

Sylvia  went  upstairs  to  her  room.  She  was  touched, 
moved,  excited.  It  was  quite  a  new  experience  with  her 
to  come  so  really  near  to  any  man's  heart  and  conscience. 

Life  is  a  secret  and  a  tangled  skein,  full  of  loose,  al- 
most invisible  threads.  This  curiously  intimate,  and 
yet  impersonal  conversation  with  one  who  was  not  only 
a  stranger,  but  also  a  foreigner,  made  her  realise  how 
little  we  men  and  women  really  know  of  one  another. 


88  THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

How  small  was  her  knowledge,  for  instance,  of  Bill 
Chester — though,  to  be  sure,  of  him  there  was  perhaps 
nothing  to  know.  How  really  little  also  she  knew  of 
Anna  Wolsky!  They  had  become  friends,  and  yet  Anna 
had  never  confided  to  her  any  intimate  or  secret  thing 
about  herself.  Why,  she  did  not  even  know  Anna's 
home  address! 

Sylvia  felt  that  there  was  now  a  link  which  hardly 
anything  could  break  between  herself  and  this  French- 
man, whom  she  had  never  seen  till  a  week  ago.  Even 
if  they  never  met  again  after  to-day,  she  would  never 
forget  that  he  had  allowed  her  to  see  into  the  core  of  his 
sad,  embittered  heart.  He  had  lifted  a  corner  of  the 
veil  which  covered  his  conscience,  and  he  had  done  this 
in  order  that  he  might  save  her,  a  stranger,  from  what 
he  knew  by  personal  experience  to  be  a  terrible  fate! 


CHAPTER  VII 

Two  hours  later  Sylvia  Bailey  was  having  luncheon 
with  Anna  Wolsky  in  the  Pension  Malfait. 

The  two  hostelries,  hers  and  Anna's,  were  in  almost 
absurd  contrast  the  one  to  the  other.  At  the  Villa  du 
Lac  everything  was  spacious,  luxurious,  and  quiet.  M. 
Polperro's  clients  spent,  or  so  Sylvia  supposed,  much  of 
their  time  in  their  own  rooms  upstairs,  or  else  in  the 
Casino,  while  many  of  them  had  their  own  motors,  and 
went  out  on  long  excursions.  They  were  cosmopolitans, 
and  among  them  were  a  number  of  Russians. 

Here  at  the  Pension  Malfait,  the  clientele  was  French. 
All  was  loud  talking,  bustle,  and  laughter.  The  large 
house  contained  several  young  men  who  had  daily  work 
in  Paris.  Others,  like  Madame  Wolsky,  were  at  Lacville 
in  order  to  indulge  their  passion  for  play,  and  quite  a 
number  of  people  came  in  simply  for  meals. 

Among  these  last,  rather  to  Sylvia's  surprise,  were 
Monsieur  and  Madame  Wachner,  the  middle-aged  couple 
whom  Anna  Wolsky  had  pointed  out  as  having  been  at 
Aix-les-Bains  the  year  before,  at  the  same  time  as  she 
was  herself. 

The  husband  and  wife  were  now  sitting  almost  exactly 
opposite  Anna  and  Sylvia  at  the  narrow  table  d'hote, 
and  again  a  broad,  sunny  smile  lit  up  the  older  woman's 
face  when  she  looked  across  at  the  two  friends. 

"We  meet  again!"  she  exclaimed  in  a  guttural  voice, 

89 


90  THE  CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR 

and  then  in  French,  addressing  Madame  Wolsky,  "This 
is  not  very  much  like  ALx-les-Bains,  is  it,  Madame?" 

Anna  shook  her  head. 

"Still  it  is  a  pretty  place,  Lacville,  and  cheaper  than 
one  would  think."  She  leant  across  the  table,  and  con- 
tinued in  a  confidential  undertone:  "As  for  us — ray  hus- 
band and  I — we  have  taken  a  small  villa;  he  has  grown 
so  tired  of  hotels." 

"But  surely  you  had  a  villa  at  Aix?"  said  Anna,  in  a 
surprised  tone. 

"Yes,  we  had  a  villa  there,  certainly.     But  then  a 

very  sad  affair  happened  to  us "  she  sighed.     "You 

may  have  heard  of  it?  "  and  she  fixed  her  small,  intensely 
bright  eyes  inquiringly  on  Anna. 

Anna  bent  her  head. 

"Yes,  I  heard  all  about  it,"  she  said  gravely.  "You 
mean  about  your  friend  who  was  drowned  in  the  lake? 
It  must  have  been  a  very  distressing  thing  for  you  and 
your  husband." 

"Yes,  indeed!    He  never  can  bear  to  speak  of  it." 

And  Sylvia,  looking  over  at  the  man  sitting  just  oppo- 
site to  herself,  saw  a  look  of  unease  come  over  his  sallow 
face.  He  was  eating  his  omelette  steadily,  looking 
neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left. 

"Ami  Fritz!"  cried  his  wife,  turning  suddenly  to  him, 
and  this  time  she  spoke  English,  "Say,  'How  d'you  do,' 
to  this  lady!  You  will  remember  that  we  used  to  see 
'er  at  Aix,  in  the  Casino  there?" 

"Ami  Fritz"  bowed  his  head,  but  remained  silent. 

"Yes,"  his  wife  went  on,  volubly,  "that  sad  affair  made 
Aix  very  unpleasant  to  us!    After  that  we  spent  the 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         91 

winter  in  various  pensions,  and  then,  instead  of  going 
back  to  Aix,  we  came  'ere.  So  far,  I  am  quite  satisfied 
with  Lacville." 

Though  she  spoke  with  a  very  bad  accent  and  dropped 
her  aitches,  her  English  was  quick  and  colloquial. 

"Lacville  is  a  cosy,  'appy  place!"  she  cried,  and  this 
time  she  smiled  full  at  Sylvia,  and  Sylvia  told  herself 
that  the  woman's  face,  if  very  plain,  was  like  a  sunflower, 
— so  broad,  so  kindly,  so  good-humoured! 

Wlien  dejeuner  was  over,  the  four  had  coffee  together, 
and  the  melancholy  Monsieur  Wachner,  who  was  so  curi- 
ously unlike  his  bright,  vivacious  wife,  at  last  broke  into 
eager  talk,  for  he  and  Anna  Wolsky  had  begun  to  discuss 
•different  gambling  systems.  His  face  lighted  up;  it  was 
easy  to  see  what  interested  and  stimulated  this  long,  lanky 
man  whose  wife  addressed  him  constantly  as  "Ami  Fritz." 

"Now  'e  is  what  the  English  call  'obby-'orse  riding," 
she  exclaimed,  with  a  loud  laugh.  "To  see  'im  in  all  'is 
glory  you  should  see  my  Fritz  at  Monte  Carlo!"  she  was 
speaking  to  Sylvia.  "There  'as  never  been  a  system  in- 
vented in  connection  with  that  devil-game.  Roulette,  that 
L'Ami  Fritz  does  not  know,  and  that  'e  'as  not — at  some 
time  or  other — played  more  to  'is  satisfaction  than  to 
mine!"  But  she  spoke  very  good-humouredly.  "'E 
cannot  ring  many  changes  on  Baccarat,  and  I  do  not 
often  allow  'im  to  play  downstairs.  No,  no,  that  is  too 
dangerous!    That  is  for  children  and  fools!" 

Sylvia  was  still  too  ignorant  of  play  to  understand  the 
full  significance  of  Madame  Wachner's  words,  but  she 
was  vaguely  interested,  though  she  could  not  understand 
one  word  of  the  eager  talk  between  Anna  and  the  man. 


92  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOITR 

"Let  US  leave  them  at  it!"  exclaimed  the  older  woman, 
suddenly.  "It  will  be  much  nicer  in  the  garden,  Mad- 
ame, for  it  is  not  yet  too  'ot  for  out  of  doors.  By  the 
way,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  my  name.  That  was  very  rude 
of  me !  My  name  is  Wachner — Sophie  Wachner,  at  your 
service." 

"And  my  name  is  Bailey — Sylvia  Bailey." 

"Ah,  I  thought  so — you  are  a  Mees!" 

"No,"  said  Sylvia  gravely,  "I  am  a  widow." 

Madame  Wachner's  face  became  very  serious. 

"Ah,"  she  said,  sympathetically,  "that  is  sad — very 
sad  for  one  so  young  and  so  beautiful!" 

Sylvia  smiled.  Madame  Wachner  was  certainly  a  kind- 
ly, warm-hearted  sort  of  woman. 

They  walked  out  together  into  the  narrow  garden,  and 
soon  Madame  Wachner  began  to  amuse  her  companion 
by  lively,  shrewd  talk,  and  they  spent  a  pleasant  half- 
hour  pacing  up  and  down. 

The  W^achners  seemed  to  have  travelled  a  great  deal 
about  the  world  and  especially  in  several  of  the  British 
Colonies. 

It  was  in  New  Zealand  that  Madame  W^achner  had 
learnt  to  speak  English :  "  My  'usband,  'e  was  in  business 
there,"  she  said  vaguely. 

"And  you?"  she  asked  at  last,  fixing  her  piercing  eyes 
on  the  pretty  Englishwoman,  and  allowing  them  to  travel 
down  till  they  rested  on  the  milky  row  of  perfectly-matched 
pearls. 

"Oh,  this  is  my  first  visit  to  France,"  answered  Sylvia, 
"and  I  am  enjoying  it  very  much  indeed." 

"Then  you  'ave  not  gambled  for  money  yet?"  observed 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         93 

Madame  Wachner.  "In  England  they  are  too  good  to 
gamble!"  She  spoke  sarcastically,  but  Sylvia  did  not 
know  that. 

"I  never  in  my  life  played  for  money  till  last  week, 
and  then  I  won  thirty  francs!" 

"Ah I    Then  now  surely  you  will  join  the  Club?" 

"Yes,"  said  Sylvia  a  little  awkwardly.  "I  suppose  I 
shall  join  the  Club.  You  see,  my  friend  is  so  fond  of  play." 

"I  believe  you  there!"  cried  the  other,  familiarly. 
"We  used  to  watch  Madame  Wolsky  at  Aix— my  'usband 
and  I.  It  seems  so  strange  that  there  we  never  spoke 
to  'er,  and  that  now  we  seem  to  know  'er  already  so  much 
better  than  we  did  in  all  the  weeks  we  were  together  at 
Aix!  But  there" — she  sighed  a  loud,  heaving  sigh — 
"we  'ad  a  friend — a  dear  young  friend — with  us  at  Aix- 
les-Bains." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Sylvia,  sympathisingly. 

"You  know?"  Madame  Wachner  looked  at  her  quickly. 
"What  is  it  that  you  know,  Madame?" 

"Madame  Wolsky  told  me  about  it.  Your  friend  was 
drowned,  was  he  not?  It  must  have  been  very  sad  and 
dreadful  for  you  and  your  husband." 

"It  was  terrible!"  said  Madame  Wachner  vehemently. 
"Terrible!" 

The  hour  in  the  garden  sped  by  very  quickly,  and 
Sylvia  was  rather  sorry  when  it  came  to  be  time  to  start 
for  the  Casino. 

"Look  here!"  cried  Madame  Wachner  suddenly. 
"^Vhy  should  not  L'Ami  Fritz  escort  Madame  Wolsky 
to  the  Casino  while  you  and  I  take  a  pretty  drive?     I 


94         THE  CHINK  TN  THE  ARMOUR 

am  so  tired  of  that  old  Casino — and  you  will  be  so  tired 
of  it  soon,  too!"  she  exclaimed  in  an  aside  to  Sylvia. 

Sylvia  looked  questioningly  at  Anna. 

"Yes,  do  take  a  drive,  dear.  You  have  plenty  of 
time,  for  I  intend  to  spend  all  this  afternoon  and  even- 
ing at  the  Casino,"  said  Madame  Wolsky,  quickly,  in 
answer  to  Sylvia's  look.  "It  will  do  quite  well  if  you 
come  there  after  you  have  had  your  tea.  My  friend  will 
never  go  without  her  afternoon  tea;"  she  turned  to  Mad- 
ame Wachner. 

"I,  too,  love  afternoon  tea!"  cried  Madame  Wachner, 
in  a  merry  tone.  "Then  that  is  settled!  You  and  I  will 
take  a  drive,  and  then  we  will  'ave  tea  and  then  go  to 
the  Casino." 

Mrs.  Bailey  accompanied  her  friend  upstairs  while 
Anna  put  on  her  things  and  got  out  her  money. 

"You  will  enjoy  a  drive  on  this  hot  day,  even  with 
that  funny  old  woman,"  said  Madame  Wolsky,  affec- 
tionately. "And  meanwhile  I  will  get  your  member- 
ship card  made  out  for  the  Club.  If  you  like  to  do 
so,  you  might  have  a  little  gamble  this  evening.  But 
I  do  not  want  my  sweet  English  friend  to  become  as 
fond  of  play  as  I  am  myself" —  there  crept  a  sad  note 
into  her  voice.  "However,  I  do  not  think  there  is  any 
fear  of  that!" 

\^Tien  the  two  friends  came  downstairs  again,  they 
found  IMonsieur  and  Madame  Wachner  standing  close 
together  and  speaking  in  a  low  voice.  As  she  came 
nearer  to  them  Sylvia  saw  that  they  were  so  absorbed 
in  each  other  that  they  did  not  see  her,  and  she  heard 
the  man  saying  in  a  low,  angry  voice,  in  French :  "  There 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         95 

is  nothing  to  be  done  here  at  all,  Sophie!  It  is  foolish 
of  us  to  waste  our  time  like  this!"  And  then  Madame 
Wachner  answered  quickly,  "You  are  always  so  gloomy, 
so  hopeless!  I  tell  you  there  is  something  to  be  done. 
Leave  it  to  me!" 

Then,  suddenly  becoming  aware  that  Sylvia  was  stand- 
ing beside  her,  the  old  woman  v/ent  on:  "My  'usband, 
Madame,  always  says  there  is  nothing  to  be  done!  You 
see,  'e  is  tired  of  'is  last  system,  and  'e  'as  not  yet  in- 
vented another.  But,  bah!  I  say  to  'im  that  no  doubt 
luck  will  come  to-day.  'E  may  find  Madame  Wolsky  a 
mascot."     She  was  very  red  and  looked  disturbed. 

"I  'ave  asked  them  to  telephone  for  an  open  carriage," 
Madame  Wachner  added,  in  a  better-humoured  tone. 
"  It  will  be  here  in  three  or  four  minutes.  Shall  we  drive 
you  first  to  the  Casino?"  This  question  she  asked  of  her 
husband. 

"No,"  said  Monsieur  Wachner,  harshly,  "certainly  not! 
I  will  walk  in  any  case." 

"And  I  will  walk  too,"  said  Anna,  who  had  just  come 
up.  "There  is  no  need  at  all  for  us  to  take  you  out  of 
your  way.  You  had  better  drive  at  once  into  the  open 
country,  Sylvia." 

And  so  they  all  started,  Madame  Wolsky  and  her  tall, 
gaunt,  morose  companion,  walking,  while  Sylvia  and 
Madame  Wachner  drove  off  in  the  opposite  direction. 

The  country  immediately  round  Lacville  is  not  pretty; 
the  little  open  carriage  was  rather  creaky,  and  the  horse 
was  old  and  tired,  and  yet  Sylvia  Bailey  enjoyed  her 
drive  very  much. 

Madame    Wachner,    common-looking,    plain,    almost 


96  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

grotesque  in  appearance  though  she  was,  possessed  that 
rare  human  attribute,  vitaHty. 

Sometimes  she  spoke  in  French,  sometimes  in  English, 
changing  from  the  one  to  the  other  with  perfect  ease; 
and  honestly  pleased  at  having  escaped  a  long,  dull, 
hot  afternoon  in  the  Casino,  the  older  woman  set  her- 
self to  please  and  amuse  Sylvia.  She  thoroughly  suc- 
ceeded, A  clever  gossip,  she  seemed  to  know  a  great 
deal  about  all  sorts  of  interesting  people,  and  she  gave 
Sylvia  an  amusing  account  of  Princess  Mathilde  Bona- 
parte, whose  splendid  chateau  they  saw  from  their  little 
carriage. 

IMadame  Wachner  also  showed  the  most  sympathetic 
interest  in  Sylvia  and  Sylvia's  past  life.  Soon  the  Eng- 
lishwoman found  herself  telling  her  new  acquaintance  a 
great  deal  about  her  childhood  and  girlhood — something 
even  of  her  brief,  not  unhappy,  married  life.  But  she 
shrank  back,  both  mentally  and  physically,  when  Mad- 
ame Wachner  carelessly  observed,  "Ah,  but  soon  you 
will  marry  again;  no  doubt  you  are  already  engaged?" 

"Oh,  no!"  Sylvia  shook  her  head. 

"But  you  are  young  and  beautiful.  It  would  be  a 
crime  for  you  not  to  get  married  again!"  Madame 
Wachner  persisted;  and  then,  "I  love  beauty,"  she  cried 
enthusiastically.  "You  did  not  see  me,  Madame,  last 
week,  but  I  saw  you,  and  I  said  to  my  'usband,  'There 
is  a  very  beautiful  person  come  to  Lacville,  Fritz!'  'E 
laughed  at  me.  'Now  you  will  be  satisfied — now  you 
will  'ave  something  to  look  at,'  'e  says.  And  it  is  quite 
true!  When  I  come  back  that  night  I  was  very  sorry 
to  see  you  not  there.     But  we  will  meet  often  now,"  she 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         97 

concluded  pleasantly,  "for  I  suppose,  Madame,  that  you 
too  intend  to  play?" 

That  was  the  second  time  she  had  asked  the  question. 

"I  shall  play  a  little,"  said  Sylvia,  blushing,  "but  of 
course  I  do  not  want  to  get  into  the  habit  of  gambling." 

"No,  indeed,  that  would  be  terrible!  And  then  there 
are  not  many  who  can  afford  to  gamble  and  to  lose  their 
good  money."  She  looked  inquiringly  at  Sylvia.  "  But, 
there,"  she  sighed — her  fat  face  became  very  grave — "it 
is  extraordinary  'ow  some  people  manage  to  get  money 
— I  mean  those  'oo  are  determined  to  play!" 

And  then,  changing  the  subject,  Madame  Wachner 
suddenly  began  to  tell  her  new  acquaintance  all  about 
the  tragic  death  by  drowning  of  her  and  her  husband's 
friend  at  Aix-les-Bains  the  year  before.  She  now  spoke 
in  French,  but  with  a  peculiar  guttural  accent. 

"I  never  talk  of  it  before  Fritz,"  she  said  quickly, 
"but,  of  course,  we  both  often  think  of  it  still.  Oh,  it 
was  a  terrible  thing!  We  were  devoted  to  this  young 
Russian  friend  of  ours.  He  and  Fritz  worked  an  excel- 
lent system  together — the  best  Fritz  ever  invented — and 
for  a  little  while  they  made  money.  But  his  terribly 
sad  death  broke  our  luck" she  shook  her  head  omi- 
nously. 

"How  did  it  happen?"  said  Sylvia  sympathetically. 

And  then  Madame  Wachner  once  again  broke  into  her 
h-less  English. 

"They  went  together  in  a  boat  on  Lake  Bourget — it 
is  a  real  lake,  that  lake,  not  like  the  little  fishpond  'ere. 
A  storm  came  on,  and  the  boat  upset.  Fritz  did  his  best 
to  save  the  unfortunate  one,  but  'e  could  not  swim.    You 


^  THE    CHTNK   IN  THE    ARMOUR 

can  imagine  my  sensations?  I  was  in  a  summer-'ouse, 
trembling  with  fright.  Thunder,  lightning,  rain,  storm, 
all  round  I  Suddenly  I  see  Fritz,  pale  as  death,  wet 
through,  totter  up  the  path  from  the  lake.  'Where  is 
Sasha?'  I  shriek  out  to  'im.  And  'e  shake  'is  'ead  despair- 
ingly— Sasha  was  in  the  lake!" 

The  speaker  stared  before  her  with  a  look  of  vivid 
terror  on  her  face.  It  was  almost  as  if  she  saw  the  scene 
she  was  describing — nay,  as  if  she  saw  the  pale,  dead  face 
of  the  drowned  man.  It  gave  her  companion  a  cold  feel- 
ing of  fear. 

"And  was  it  long  before  they  found  him?"  asked 
Sylvia  in  a  low  tone. 

"They  never  did  find  'im,"  said  Madame  Wachner, 
her  voice  sinking  to  a  whisper.  "That  was  the  extraor- 
dinary thing — Sasha's  body  was  never  found!  Many 
people  thought  the  money  'e  'ad  on  'is  person  weighed 
'im  down,  kept  'im  entangled  in  the  weeds  at  the  bottom 
of  the  lake.     Did  not  your  friend  tell  you  it  made  talk?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Sylvia. 

"'E  'ad  not  much  money  on  'is  person,"  repeated 
Madame  Wachner,  "but  still  there  was  a  good  deal 
more  than  was  found  in  'is  bedroom.  That,  of  course, 
was  'anded  over  to  the  authorities.  They  insisted  on 
keeping  it." 

"But  I  suppose  his  family  got  it  in  the  end?"  said 
Sylvia. 

"No.  'E  'ad  no  family.  You  see,  our  friend  was  a 
Russian  nobleman,  but  he  had  also  been  a  Nihilist,  so  'e 
'ad  concealed  'is  identity.  It  was  fortunate  for  us  that 
we  'ad  got  to  know  an  important  person  in  the  police; 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR         99 

but  for  that  we  might  'ave  'ad  much  worry" — she  shook 
her  head.  "They  were  so  much  annoyed  that  poor 
Sasha  'ad  no  passport.  But,  as  I  said  to  them — for 
Fritz  quite  lost  'is  'ead,  and  could  say  nothing — not 
'alf,  no,  not  a  quarter  of  the  strangers  in  Aix  'as  pass- 
ports, though,  of  course,  it  is  a  good  and  useful  thing  to 
'ave  one.  I  suppose,  INIadame,  that  y&u  'ave  a  pass- 
port?" 

She  stopped  short,  and  looked  at  Sylvia  with  that 
eager,  inquiring  look  which  demands  an  answer  even  to 
the  most  unimportant  question. 

"  A  passport?  "  repeated  Sylvia  Bailey,  surprised.  "  No, 
indeed!  I've  never  even  seen  one.  ^Vhy  should  I  have 
a  passport?" 

"When  you  are  abroad  it  is  always  a  good  tiling  to 
'ave  a  passport,"  said  Madame  Wachner  quickly.  "You 
see,  it  enables  you  to  be  identified.  It  gives  your  ad- 
dress at  'ome.  But  I  do  not  think  that  you  can  get  one 
now — no,  it  is  a  thing  that  one  must  get  in  one's  own 
country,  or,  at  any  rate,"  she  corrected  herself,  "in  a 
country  where  you  'ave  resided  a  long  time." 

"What  is  your  country,  Madame?"  asked  Sylvia. 
"Are  you  French?  I  suppose  INIonsieur  Wachner  is 
German?" 

Madame  Wachner  shook  her  head. 

"Oh,  'e  would  be  cross  to  'ear  that!  No,  no,  Fritz  is 
Viennese — a  gay  Viennese!    As  for  me,  I  am" — she  waited 

a  moment "well,  Madame,  I  am  what  the  French  call 

*une  vraie  cosmopolite' — oh,  yes,  I  am  a  true  citizeness 
of  the  world." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

They  had  been  driving  a  considerable  time,  and  at 
last  the  coachman,  turning  round  on  his  seat,  asked 
where  they  wished  to  go  next. 

"I  ask  you  to  come  and  'ave  tea  with  me,"  said  Mad- 
ame Wachner  turning  to  Sylvia.  "We  are  not  ver}''  far 
from  the  Chalet  des  Muguets,  and  I  'ave  some  excellent 
tea  there.  We  will  'ave  a  rest,  and  tell  the  man  to  come 
back  for  us  in  one  hour.  What  do  you  think  of  that, 
Madame?" 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you,"  said  Sylvia  gratefully;  and, 
indeed,  she  did  think  it  very  kind.  It  would  be  pleasant 
to  rest  a  while  in  the  Wachner's  villa  and  have  tea  there. 

Sylvia  was  in  the  mood  to  enjoy  every  new  experience, 
however  trifling,  and  she  had  never  been  in  a  French 
private  house. 

"  Au  Chalet  des  Muguets,"  called  out  Madame  Wachner 
to  the  driver. 

He  nodded  and  turned  his  horse  round. 

Soon  they  were  making  their  way  along  newly-made 
roads,  cut  through  what  had  evidently  been,  not  so  very 
long  before,  a  great  stretch  of  forest  land. 

"The  good  people  of  Lacville  are  in  a  hurry  to  make 
money,"  observed  Madame  Wachner  in  French.  "I  am 
told  that  land  here  has  nearly  trebled  in  value  the  last 
few  years,  though  houses  are  still  cheap." 

"It  seems  a  pity  they  should  destroy  such  beautiful 

100 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  101 

woods,"  said  Sylvia  regretfully,  remembering  what  the 
Comte  de  Virieu  had  said  only  that  morning. 

The  other  shrugged  her  shoulders,  "I  do  not  care  for 
scenery — no,  not  at  all!"  she  exclaimed  complacently. 

,The  carriage  drew  up  with  a  jerk  before  a  small  white 
gate  set  in  low,  rough,  wood  palings.  Behind  the  palings 
lay  a  large,  straggling,  and  untidy  garden,  relieved  from 
absolute  ugliness  by  some  high  forest  trees  which  had 
been  allowed  to  remain  when  the  house  in  the  centre  of 
the  plot  of  ground  was  built. 

Madame  Wachner  stepped  heavily  out  of  the  carriage, 
and  Sylvia  followed  her,  feeling  amused  and  interested. 
She  wondered  very  much  what  the  inside  of  the  funny 
little  villa  she  saw  before  her  would  be  like.  In  any 
case,  the  outside  of  the  Chalet  des  Muguets  was  almost 
ludicrously  unlike  the  English  houses  to  which  she  was 
accustomed. 

Very  strange,  quaint,  and  fantastic  looked -the  one- 
storey  building,  standing  far  higher  than  any  bungalow 
Sylvia  had  ever  seen,  in  a  lawn  of  high,  rank  grass. 

The  walls  of  the  Chalet  des  Muguets  were  painted 
bright  pink,  picked  out  with  sham  brown  beams,  which 
in  their  turn  were  broken  at  intervals  by  large  blue  china 
lozenges,  on  which  were  painted  the  giant  branches  of  lilies- 
of-the- valley  which  gave  the  villa  its  inappropriate  name! 

The  chocolate-coloured  row  of  shutters  were  now 
closed  to  shut  out  the  heat,  for  the  sun  beat  down  piti- 
lessly on  the  little  house,  and  the  whole  place  had  a 
curiously  deserted,  unhved-in  appearance. 

Sylvia  secretly  wondered  how  the  Wachners  could 
bear  to  leave  the  garden,  which  might  have  been  made 


102  THE  CHrNTK  IN  THE   ARMOUR 

SO  pretty  with  a  little  care,  in  such  a  state  of  neglect  and 
untidiness.  Even  the  path  leading  up  to  the  side  of  the 
house,  where  jutted  out  a  mean-looking  door,  was  cov- 
ered \\ath  weeds. 

But  Madame  Wachner  was  evidently  very  pleased  with 
her  temporary  home,  and  quite  satisfied  with  its  surround- 
ings. 

"It  is  a  pretty  'ouse,  is  it  not?"  she  asked  in  English, 
and  smiling  broadly.  "And  only  one  thousand  francs, 
furnished,  for  the  'ole  season!" 

Sylvia  quickly  made  a  mental  calculation.  Forty 
pounds?  Yes,  she  supposed  that  was  very  cheap — for 
Lacville. 

"We  come  in  May,  and  we  may  stay  till  October," 
said  INIadame  Wachner,  still  speaking  in  a  satisfied  tone. 
"I  made  a  bargain  with  a  woman  from  the  town.  She 
comes  each  morning,  cooks  what  I  want,  and  does  the 
'ousework.  Often  we  'ave  our  dejeuner  out  and  dine  at 
'ome,  or  we  dine  close  to  the  Casino — just  as  we  choose. 
Food  is  so  dear  in  France,  it  makes  little  difference 
whether  we  stay  at  'ome  or  not  for  meals." 

They  were  now  close  to  the  chocolate-coloured  door 
of  the  Chalet,  and  Madame  Wachner,  to  Sylvia  Bailey's 
surprise  and  amusement,  lifted  a  corner  of  the  shabby 
outside  mat,  and  took  from  under  it  a  key.  With  it 
she  opened  the  door.  "Walk  in,"  she  said  familiarly, 
"and  welcome,  Madame,  to  my  'ome!" 

Sylvia  found  herself  in  a  bare  little  hall,  so  bare  indeed 
that  there  was  not  even  a  hat  and  umbrella  stand  there. 

Her  hostess  walked  past  her  and  opened  a  door  which 
gave  into  a  darkened  room. 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUH  103 

"This  is  our  dining-room,"  she  said  proudly.  "Walk 
in,  IMadame.     It  is  'ere  we  had  better  'ave  tea,  perhaps." 

Sylvia  followed  her.  How  dark,  and  how  very  hot  it 
was  in  here!  She  could  see  absolutely  nothing  for  some 
moments,  for  she  was  blinded  by  the  sudden  change 
from  the  bright  light  of  the  hall  to  the  dim  twilight  of 
the  closely-shuttered  room. 

Then  gradually  she  began  to  see  everything — or  rather 
the  little  there  was  to  be  seen — and  she  felt  surprised, 
and  a  little  disappointed. 

The  dining-room  was  more  than  plainly  furnished;  it 
was  positively  ugly. 

The  furniture  consisted  of  a  round  table  standing  on 
an  unpolished  parquet  floor,  of  six  cane  chairs  set  against 
the  wall,  and  of  a  walnut-wood  buffet,  on  the  shelves  of 
which  stood  no  plates,  or  ornaments  of  any  description. 
The  walls  were  distempered  a  reddish-pink  colour,  and 
here  and  there  the  colour  had  run  in  streaky  patches. 

"Is  it  not  charming?"  exclaimed  Madame  Wachner. 
"And  now  I  will  show  you  our  pretty  little  salon!" 

Sylvia  followed  her  out  into  the  hall,  and  so  to  the 
left  into  the  short  passage  which  ran  down  the  centre  of 
the  tiny  house. 

The  drawing-room  of  the  Chalet  des  Muguets  was  a 
little  larger  than  the  dining-room,  but  it  was  equally 
bare  of  anything  pretty  or  even  convenient.  There  was 
a  small  sofa,  covered  with  cheap  tapestry,  and  four  un- 
comfortable-looking chairs  to  match ;  on  the  sham  marble 
mantel-piece  stood  a  gilt  and  glass  clock  and  two  chande- 
liers.    There  was  not  a  book,  not  a  paper,  not  a  flower. 

Both  rooms  gave  Sylvia  a  strange  impression  that  they 


104        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

were  very  little  lived  in.  But  then,  of  course,  the  Wach- 
ners  were  very  little  at  home. 

"And  now  I  will  get  tea,"  said  Madame  Wachner 
triumphantly. 

"Will  you  not  let  me  help  you?"  asked  Sylvia,  timidly. 
"I  love  making  tea — every  Englishwoman  loves  making 
tea."  She  had  no  wish  to  be  left  in  this  dull,  ugly  little 
drawing-room  by  herself. 

"Oh,  but  your  pretty  dress!  Would  it  not  get  'urt  in 
the  kitchen?"  cried  Madame  Wachner  deprecatingly. 

But  she  allowed  Sylvia  to  follow  her  into  the  bright, 
clean  Uttle  kitchen,  of  which  the  door  was  just  opposite 
the  drawing-room. 

"What  a  charming  little  cuisine V  cried  Sylvia  smi- 
ling. She  was  glad  to  find  something  that  she  could 
honestly  praise,  and  the  kitchen  was,  in  truth,  the  pleas- 
antest  place  in  the  house,  exquisitely  neat,  with  the  brass 
batierie  dc  cuisine  shining  and  bright.  "  Your  day  servant 
must  be  an  exceptionally  clean  woman." 

"Yes,"  said  Madame  Wachner,  in  a  rather  dissatisfied 
tone,  "she  is  well  enough.  But,  oh,  those  French  people, 
how  eager  they  are  for  money!  Do  you  suppose  that 
woman  ever  stays  one  minute  beyond  her  time?  No, 
indeed!" 

Even  as  she  spoke  she  was  pouring  water  into  a  little 
kettle,  and  lighting  a  spirit  lamp.  Then,  going  to  a  cup- 
board, she  took  out  two  cups  and  a  cracked  china  teapot. 

Sylvia  did  her  part  by  cutting  some  bread  and  butter, 
and,  as  she  stood  at  the  white  table  opposite  the  kitchen 
window,  she  saw  that  beyond  the  small  piece  of  garden 
which  lay  at  the  back  of  the  house  was  a  dense  chestnut 


THE   CHINK    IN  THE   ARMOUR  105 

wood,  only  separated  from  the  Chalet  des  Muguets  by  a 
straggling  hedge. 

"Does  the  wood  belong  to  you,  too?"  she  asked. 

Madame  Wachner  shook  her  head. 

"Oh!  no,"  she  said,  "that  is  for  sale!" 

"You  must  find  it  very  lonely  here  at  night,"  said 
Sylvia,  musingly,  "you  do  not  seem  to  have  any  neigh- 
bours either  to  the  right  or  left." 

"There  is  a  villa  a  little  way  down  the  road,"  said 
Madame  Wachner  quickly.  "But  we  are  not  nervous 
people — and  then  we  'ave  nothing  it  would  be  worth 
anybody's  while  to  steal." 

Sylvia  reminded  herself  that  the  Wachners  must  surely 
have  a  good  deal  of  money  in  the  house  if  they  gambled 
as  much  as  Anna  Wolsky  said  they  did.  Her  hostess 
could  not  keep  it  all  in  the  little  bag  which  she  always 
carried  hung  on  her  wrist. 

And  then,  as  if  Madame  Wachner  had  seen  straight 
into  her  mind,  the  old  woman  said  significantly.  "As 
to  our  money,  I  will  show  you  where  we  keep  it.  Come 
into  my  bed-room;  perhaps  you  will  take  off  your  hat 
there;  then  we  shall  be  what  English  people  call  'cosy."* 

Madame  Wachner  led  the  way  again  into  the  short 
passage,  and  so  into  a  large  bed-room,  which  looked,  like 
the  kitchen,  on  to  the  back  garden. 

After  the  kitchen,  this  bed-room  struck  Sylvia  as  being 
the  pleasantest  room  in  the  Chalet  des  Muguets,  and 
that  although,  like  the  dining-room  and  drawing-room, 
it  was  extraordinarily  bare. 

There  was  no  chest  of  drawers,  no  dressing-table,  no 
cupboard  to  be  seen.    Madame  Wachner's  clothes  hung 


106  THE  CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR 

on  pegs  behind  the  door,  and  there  was  a  large  brass- 
bound  trunk  in  a  corner  of  the  room. 

But  the  broad,  low  bed  looked  very  comfortable,  and 
there  was  a  bath-room  next  door. 

Madame  Wachner  showed  her  guest  the  bath-room  with 
great  pride. 

"This  is  the  'English  comfortable,'"  she  said,  using 
the  quaint  phrase  the  French  have  invented  to  express 
the  acme  of  domestic  luxury.  "My  'usband  will  never 
allow  me  to  take  a  'ouse  that  has  no  bath-room.  'E  is 
very  clean  about  'imself " — she  spoke  as  if  it  was  a  fact 
to  be  proud  of,  and  Sylvia  could  not  help  smiling. 

"  I  suppose  there  are  still  many  French  houses  without 
a  bath-room,"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  said  IMadame  Wachner  quickly,  "the  French 
are  not  a  clean  people," — she  shook  her  head  scornfully. 

"I  suppose  you  keep  your  money  in  that  box?"  said 
Sylvia,  looking  at  the  brass-bound  trunk. 
♦  "No,  indeed!     TAi^  is  where  I  keep  it ! " 

Madame  Wachner  suddenly  lifted  her  thin  alpaca 
skirt,  and  Sylvia,  with  astonishment,  saw  that  hung 
round  her  capacious  waist  were  a  number  of  little  wash- 
leather  bags.  "My  money  is  all  'ere!"  exclaimed  Mad- 
ame Wachner,  laughing  heartily.  "It  rests — oh,  so  co- 
sily— against  my  petticoat." 

They  went  back  into  the  kitchen.  The  water  was 
boiling,  and  Sylvia  made  the  tea,  Madame  Wachner 
looking  on  with  eager  interest. 

"La!  La!  it  will  be  strong!  I  only  put  a  pinch  for 
ourselves.  And  now  go  into  the  dining-room,  and  I  will 
bring  the  teapot  there  to  you,  Madame!" 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  107 

"No,  no,"  said  Sylvia  laughing,  "why  should  we  not 
drink  our  tea  here,  in  this  pretty  kitchen?" 

The  other  looked  at  her  doubtfully.     "  Shall  we?  " 

"Yes,  of  course  1"  cried  Sylvia. 

They  drew  up  two  rush-bottomed  chairs  to  the  table 
and  sat  down. 

Sylvia  thoroughly  enjoyed  this  first  taste  of  Madame 
Wachner's  hospitality.  The  drive  and  the  great  heat 
had  made  her  feel  tired  and  languid,  and  the  tea  did  her 
good. 

"I  will  go  and  see  if  the  carriage  is  there,"  said  Mad- 
ame Wachner  at  last. 

While  her  hostess  was  away,  Sylvia  looked  round  her 
with  some  curiosity. 

What  an  extraordinary  mode  of  life  these  people  had 
chosen  for  themselves!  If  the  Wachners  were  rich 
enough  to  gamble,  surely  they  had  enough  money  to 
live  mors  comfortably  than  they  were  now  doing?  It 
was  clear  that  they  hardly  used  the  dining-room  and 
drawing-room  of  the  little  villa  at  all.  When  Sylvia 
had  been  looking  for  the  butter,  she  had  not  been  able 
to  help  seeing  that  in  the  tiny  larder  there  was  only  a 
small  piece  of  cheese,  a  little  cold  meat,  and  a  couple  of 
eggs  on  a  plate.  No  wonder  Monsieur  Wachner  had 
heartily  enjoyed  the  copious,  if  rather  roughly-prepared, 
meal  at  the  Pension  Malfait. 

"Yes,  the  carriage  is  there,"  said  Madame  Wachner 
bustling  back.  "And  now  we  must  be  quick,  or  L'Ami 
Fritz  will  be  cross !  Do  you  know  that  absurd  man 
actually  still  thinks  'e  is  master,  and  yet  we  'ave  been 
married-— oh,  I  do  not  know  'ow  many  years!    But  be 


108        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

always  loves  seeing  me  even  after  we  'ave  been  separated 
but  two  hours  or  so!" 

Together  they  went  out,  IMadame  Wachncr  carefully 
locking  the  door  and  hiding  the  key  where  she  had  found 
it,  under  the  mat  outside. 

Sylvia  could  not  help  laughing. 

"I  really  wonder  you  do  that,"  she  observed.  "Just 
think  how  easy  it  would  be  for  anyone  to  get  into  the 
house ! " 

"Yes,  that  is  true,  but  there  is  nothing  to  steal.  As  I 
tell  you,  we  always  carry  our  money  about  with  us,"  said 
Madame  Wachner.  She  added  in  a  serious  tone,  "and 
I  should  advise  you  to  do  so  too,  my  dear  young  friend." 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  quarter  of  an  hour's  sharp  driving  brought  Sylvia 
and  Madame  Wachner  to  the  door  of  the  Caaino.  They 
found  Madame  Wolsky  in  the  hall  waiting  for  them. 

"I  couldn't  think  what  had  happened  to  you!"  she 
exclaimed  in  an  anxious  tone.  "But  here  is  your  mem- 
bership card,  Sylvia.  Now  you  are  free  of  the  Baccarat 
tables!" 

Monsieur  Wachner  met  his  wife  with  a  frowning  face. 
He  might  be  pleased  to  see  Madame  Wachner,  but  he 
showed  his  pleasure  in  an  odd  manner.  Soon,  however, 
the  secret  of  his  angry  look  was  revealed,  for  Madame 
Wachner  opened  the  leather  bag  hanging  from  her  wrist 
and  took  out  of  it  a  hundred  francs. 

"Here,  Fritz,"  she  cried,  gaily.  "You  can  now  begin 
your  play!" 

Sylvia  Bailey  felt  very  much  amused.  So  poor  "Ami 
Fritz"  was  not  allowed  to  gamble  unless  his  wife  were 
there  to  see  that  he  did  not  go  too  far.  No  wonder  he 
had  looked  impatient  and  eager,  as  well  as  cross!  He 
had  been  engaged — that  was  clear — in  putting  down  the 
turns  of  the  game,  and  in  working  out  what  were  no  doubt 
abstruse  calculations  connected  with  his  system. 

The  Club  was  very  full,  and  it  was  a  little  difficult  at 
that  hour  of  the  late  afternoon  to  get  near  enough  to  a 
table  to  play  comfortably;  but  a  stranger  had  kindly 
kept  Anna  Wolsky's  place  for  her. 

109 


110  THE   CHINK   IN  THE    ARMOUR 

"I  have  been  quite  lucky,"  she  whispered  to  Sylvia. 
"I  have  made  three  hundred  francs,  and  now  I  think  I 
will  rest  a  bit!  Slip  in  here,  dear,  and  I  will  stand  be- 
hind you.  I  do  not  advise  you  to  risk  more  than  twenty 
francs  the  first  time;  on  the  other  hand,  if  you  feel  en 
veine,  if  the  luck  seems  persistent — it  sometimes  is  when 
one  first  plays  with  gold — then  be  bold,  and  do  not  hes- 
itate!" 

Sylvia,  feeling  rather  bewildered,  slipped  into  her 
friend's  place,  and  Anna  kept  close  behind  her. 

With  a  hand  that  trembled  a  little,  she  put  a  twenty- 
franc  piece  down  on  the  green  table.  After  doing  so 
she  looked  up,  and  saw  that  the  Comte  de  Virieu  was 
standing  nearly  opposite  to  her,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  table. 

His  eyes  were  fixed  on  her,  and  there  was  a  very  kind 
and  indulgent,  if  sad,  smile  on  his  face.  As  their  glances 
met  he  leant  forward  and  also  put  a  twenty-franc  piece 
on  the  green  cloth  close  to  where  Sylvia's  money  lay. 

The  traditional  words  rang  out:  " Faites  vos  jeux, 
Messieurs,  Mesdames!    Le  jeu  est  fait!    Rien  ne  va  plus!" 

And  then  Sylvia  saw  her  stake  and  that  of  the  Count 
doubled.  There  were  now  four  gold  pieces  where  two 
had  been. 

"Leave  your  money  on,  and  see  what  happ>ens. " 
whispered  Anna.  "  After  all  you  are  only  risking  twenty 
francs!" 

And  Sylvia  obediently  followed  the  advice. 

Again  there  came  a  little  pause;  once  more  the  words 
which  she  had  not  yet  learnt  to  understand  rang  out  in 
the  croupier's  monotonous  voice. 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE  ARMOUR  111 

She  looked  round  her;  there  was  anxiety  and  watch- 
ful suspense  on  all  the  eager  faces.  The  Comte  de  Virieu 
alone  looked  indifferent. 

A  moment  later  four  gold  pieces  were  added  to  the 
four  already  there. 

"You  had  better  take  up  your  winnings,  or  someone 
may  claim  them, "  muttered  Anna  anxiously. 

"Oh,  but  I  don't  like  to  do  that,"  said  Sylvia. 

"Of  course  you  must!" 

She  put  out  her  hand  and  took  up  her  four  gold  pieces, 
leaving  those  of  the  Count  on  the  table.  Then  suddenly 
she  put  back  the  eighty  francs  on  the  cloth,  and  smiled 
up  at  him ;  it  was  a  gay  little  shame-faced  smile.  "  Please 
don't  be  cross  with  me,  kind  friend," — that  is  what 
Sylvia's  smile  seemed  to  say  to  Paul  de  Virieu — "  but  this 
is  so  very  exciting!" 

He  felt  stirred  to  the  heart.  How  sweet,  how  con- 
fidingly simple  she  looked !  And — and  how  very  beautiful. 
He  at  once  loved  and  hated  to  see  her  there,  his  new  little 
"amie  Anglaise!" 

"  Are  you  going  to  leave  the  whole  of  it  on  this  time?  '* 
whispered  Anna. 

"Yes,  I  think  I  will.     It's  rather  fun.     After  all,  I'm 
only  risking  twenty  francs!"  whispered  back  Sylvia. 

And  once  more  she  won. 
■  "What  a  pity  you  didn't  start  playing  with  a  hundred 
francs!  Think  of  how  rich  you  would  be  now,"  said 
Anna,  with  the  true  gambler's  instinct.  "  But  it  is  clear, 
child,  that  you  are  going  to  do  well  this  evening,  and  I 
shall  follow  your  luck!  Take  the  money  off  now,  how- 
ever." 


112  THE   CHIXK   IX  THE   ARMOUR 

Sylvia  waited  to  see  what  the  Count  would  do.  Their 
eyes  asked  and  answered  the  same  question.  He  gave 
an  imperceptible  nod,  and  she  took  up  her  winnings — 
eight  gold  pieces! 

It  was  well  that  she  had  done  so,  for  the  next  deal  of 
the  cards  favoured  the  banker. 

Then  something  very  surprising  happened  to  Sylvia. 

Someone — she  thought  it  was  IMonsieur  Wachner — 
addressed  the  croupier  whose  duty  it  was  to  deal  out  the 
cards,  and  said  imperiously,  "A  Madame  la  main!" 

Hardly  knowing  what  she  was  doing,  Sylvia  took  up 
the  cards  which  had  been  pushed  towards  her.  A  mur- 
mur of  satisfaction  ran  round  the  table,  for  there  lay  what 
even  she  had  learnt  by  now  was  the  winning  number,  a 
nine  of  hearts,  and  the  second  card  was  the  king  of  clubs. 

Again  and  again,  she  turned  up  winning  numbers — 
the  eight  and  the  ace,  the  five  and  the  four,  the  six  and 
the  three — every  combination  which  brought  luck  to  the 
table  and  confusion  to  the  banker. 

Eyes  full  of  adoring  admiration,  aye  and  gratitude, 
were  turned  on  the  young  Englishwoman.  Paul  de  Virieu 
alone  did  not  look  at  her.     But  he  followed  her  play. 

"  Now  put  on  a  hundred  francs, "  said  Anna,  authori- 
tatively. 

SyKna  looked  at  her,  rather  surprised  by  the  advice, 
but  she  obeyed  it.  And  still  the  Comte  de  Virieu  followed 
her  lead. 

That  made  her  feel  dreadfully  nervous  and  excited — it 
would  be  so  terrible  to  make  him  lose  too  I 

Neither  of  them  lost.  On  the  contrary,  ten  napoleons 
were  added  to  the  double  pile  of  gold. 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  113 

And  then,  after  that,  it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  table 
were  following  Sylvia's  game. 

"That  pretty  Englishwoman  is  playing  for  the  first 
time!" — so  the  word  went  round.  And  they  all  began 
backing  her  luck  with  feverish  haste. 

The  banker,  a  good-looking  young  Frenchman,  stared 
at  Sylvia  ruefully.  Thanks  to  her,  he  was  being  badly 
punished.     Fortunately,  he  could  afford  it. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  feeling  tired  and  bewildered 
by  her  good  fortune,  Mrs.  Bailey  got  up  and  moved  away 
from  the  table,  the  possessor  of  £^2.  The  Comte  Virieu 
had  won  exactly  the  same  amount. 

Now  everybody  looked  pleased  except  the  banker. 
For  the  first  time  a  smile  irradiated  Monsieur  Wachner's 
long  face. 

As  for  Madame  Wachner,  she  was  overjoyed.  Catch- 
ing Sylvia  by  the  hand,  she  exclaimed,  in  her  curious, 
woolly  French,  "I  would  like  to  embrace  you!  But  I 
know  that  English  ladies  do  not  like  kissing  in  public. 
It  is  splendid — splendid!  Look  at  all  the  people  you 
have  made  happy. " 

"But  how  about  the  poor  banker?"  asked  Sylvia, 
blushing. 

"  Oh,  'e  is  all  right.     'E  is  very  rich. " 

Madame  Wolsky,  like  the  Count,  had  exactly  followed 
her  friend's  play,  but  not  as  soon  as  he  had  done.  Still, 
she  also  had  made  over  ;^80. 

"Two  thousand  francs!"  she  cried,  joyfully.  "That 
is  very  good  for  a  beginning.  And  you?"  she  turned 
to  Monsieur  Wachner. 

He  hesitated,  and  looked  at  his  wife  deprecatingly. 


114  THE   CHIXK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

"L'Ami  Fritz,"  said  Madame  Wachner,  "will  play  'is 
system,  Mesdames.  However,  I  am  glad  to  say  that 
to-day  he  soon  gave  it  up  in  honour  of  our  friend  here. 
What  'ave  you  made?"  she  asked  him. 

"Only  eight  hundred  francs,"  he  said,  his  face  cloud- 
ing over.  "  If  you  had  given  me  more  than  that  hundred 
francs,  Sophie,  I  might  have  made  five  thousand  in  the 
time. " 

"Bah!"  she  said.  "That  does  not  matter.  We  must 
not  risk  more  than  a  hundred  francs  a  day — you  know 
how  often  I've  told  you  that,  Fritz."  She  was  now 
speaking  in  French,  very  quickly  and  angrily. 

But  Sylvia  hardly  heard.  She  could  not  help  wonder- 
ing why  the  Count  had  not  come  up  and  congratulated 
her.  The  thought  that  she  had  brought  liim  luck  was 
very  pleasant  to  her. 

He  had  left  off  playing,  and  was  standing  back,  near 
one  of  the  windows.  He  had  not  even  glanced  across  to 
the  place  where  she  stood.  This  aloofness  gave  Sjdvia 
a  curious  little  feeling  of  discomfiture.  Why,  several 
strangers  had  come  up  and  cordially  thanked  her  for 
bringing  them  such  luck. 

"Let  us  come  out  of  this  place  and  'ave  some  ices,"  ex- 
claimed Madame  Wachner,  suddenly.  "  When  I'Ami  Fritz 
'as  a  stroke  of  luck  'e  often  treats  'is  old  wife  to  an  ice." 

The  four  went  out  of  the  Casino  and  across  the  way  to 
an  hotel,  which,  as  Madame  Wachner  explained  to  her 
two  new  friends,  contained  the  best  restaurant  in  Lac- 
ville.  The  sun  was  sinking,  and,  though  it  was  still 
very  hot,  there  was  a  pleasant  breeze  coming  up  from 
the  lake. 


THE  CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  115 

Sylvia  felt  excited  and  happy.  How  wonderful — how 
marvellous — to  make  nearly  ;)^100  out  of  a  twenty-franc 
piece!    That  was  what  she  had  done  this  afternoon. 

And  then,  rather  to  her  surprise,  after  they  had  all 
enjoyed  ices  and  cakes  at  Madame  Wachner's  expense, 
Anna  Wolsky  and  I'Ami  Fritz  declared  they  were  going 
back  to  the  Casino. 

"I  don't  mean  to  play  again  to-night,"  said  Sylvia, 
firmly.  "I  feel  dreadfully  tired,"  and  the  excitement 
had  indeed  worn  her  out.  She  longed  to  go  back  to  the 
Hotel  du  Lac. 

Still,  she  accompanied  the  others  to  the  Club,  and 
together  with  Madame  Wachner,  she  sat  down  some 
way  from  the  tables.  In  a  very  few  minutes  they  were 
joined  by  the  other  two,  who  had  by  now  lost  quite 
enough  gold  pieces  to  make  them  both  feel  angry  with 
themselves,  and,  what  was  indeed  unfair,  with  poor  Sylvia. 

"  I'm  sure  that  if  you  had  played  again,  and  if  we  had 
followed  your  play,  we  should  have  added  to  our  winnings 
instead  of  losing,  as  we  have  done,"  said  Anna  crossly. 

"  I'm  so  sorry,"  and  Sylvia  felt  really  distressed.  Anna 
had  never  spoken  crossly  to  her  before. 

"Forgive  me!"  cried  the  Polish  woman,  suddenly  soft- 
ening. "  I  ought  not  to  have  said  that  to  you,  dear  little 
friend.  No  doubt  we  should  all  have  lost  just  the  same. 
You  know  that  fortune-teller  told  me  that  I  should  make 
plenty  of  money — well,  even  now  I  have  had  a  splendid 
day!" 

"Do  come  back  with  me  and  have  dinner  at  the  Villa 
du  Lac,"  said  Sylvia  eagerly. 

They  shook  hands  with  the  Wachners,  and  as  they 


/ 


116        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUE 

walked  the  short  distance  from  the  Casino  to  the  villa, 
Sylvia  told  Anna  all  about  her  visit  to  the  Chalet  des 
Muguets. 

"They  seem  nice  homely  people,"  she  said,  "and 
Madame  Wachner  was  really  very  kind." 

"Yes,  no  doubt;  but  she  is  a  very  strict  wife,"  answered 
Anna  smiling.  "The  poor  man  had  not  one  penny  piece 
till  she  came  in,  and  he  got  so  angry  and  impatient  wait' 
ing  for  her!  I  really  felt  inclined  to  lend  him  a  little 
money;  but  I  have  made  it  a  rule  never  to  lend  money 
in  a  Casino;  it  only  leads  to  unpleasantness  afterwards." 

In  the  hall  of  the  Villa  du  Lac  the  Comte  de  Virieu 
was  standing  reading  a  paper.  He  was  dressed  for  dinner, 
and  he  bowed  distantly  as  the  two  ladies  came  in. 

"Why,  there  is  the  Comte  de  Virieu!"  exclaimed  Anna, 
in  a  low,  and  far  from  a  pleased  tone.  "  I  had  no  idea  he 
was  staying  here." 

"Yes,  he  is  staying  here,"  said  Sylvia,  blushing  un- 
easily, and  quickly  she  led  the  way  upstairs.  It  wanted 
a  few  minutes  to  seven. 

Anna  Wolsky  waited  till  the  door  of  Sylvia's  room  was 
shut,  and  then, 

"  I  cannot  help  being  sorry  that  you  are  staying  in  the 
same  hotel  as  that  man,"  she  said,  seriously.  "Do  not 
get  to  know  him  too  well,  dear  Sylvia.  The  Count  is  a 
worthless  individual;  he  has  gambled  away  two  fortunes. 
And  now,  instead  of  working,  he  is  content  to  live  on  an 
allowance  made  to  him  by  his  sister's  husband,  the  Due 
d'Eglemont.  If  I  were  you,  I  should  keep  on  very  dis- 
tant terms  with  him.  He  is,  no  doubt,  always  looking 
out  for  a  nice  rich  woman  to  many." 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR  117 

Sylvia  made  no  answer.  She  felt  she  could  not  trust 
herself  to  speak;  and  there  came  over  her  a  feeling  of 
intense  satisfaction  that  Anna  Wolsky  was  not  staying 
here  with  her  at  the  Villa  du  Lac. 

She  also  made  up  her  mind  that  next  time  she  enter- 
tained Anna  she  would  do  so  at  the  restaurant  of  which 
the  cooking  had  been  so  highly  commended  by  Madame 
Wachner. 

The  fact  that  Madame  Wolsky  thought  so  ill  of  the 
Comte  de  Virieu  made  Sylvia  feel  uncomfortable  all 
through  dinner.  But  the  Count,  though  he  again  bowed 
when  the  two  friends  came  into  the  dining-room,  did  not 
come  over  and  speak  to  them,  as  Sylvia  had  felt  sure  he 
would  do  this  evening. 

After  dinner  he  disappeared,  and  Sylvia  took  Anna 
out  into  the  garden.  But  she  did  not  show  her  the 
potager.  The  old  kitchen-garden  already  held  for  her 
associations  which  she  did  not  wish  to  spoil  or  even  to 
disturb. 

Madame  Wolsky,  sipping  M.  Polperro's  excellent  cof- 
fee, again  mentioned  the  Count. 

"I  am  exceedingly  surprised  to  see  him  here  at  Lac- 
ville,"  she  said  in  a  musing  voice,  "I  should  have  ex- 
pected him  to  go  to  a  more  chic  place.  He  always  plays 
in  the  winter  at  Monte  Carlo." 

Sylvia  summoned  up  courage  to  protest. 

"But,  Anna,"  she  exclaimed,  "surely  the  Comte  de 
Virieu  is  only  doing  what  a  great  many  other  people  do!" 

Anna  laughed  good-humouredly. 

"I  see  what  you^mean,"  she  said.  "You  think  it  is  a 
case  of  'the  pot  calling  the  kettle  black.'    How  excellent 


118  THE   CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

are  your  English  proverbs,  dear  Sylvia!  But  no,  it  Is 
quite  different.  Take  me.  I  have  an  income,  and 
choose  to  spend  it  in  gambling.  I  might  prefer  to  have 
a  big  house,  or  perhaps  I  should  say  a  small  house,  for  I 
am  not  a  very  rich  woman.  But  no,  I  like  play,  and  I 
am  free  to  spend  my  money  as  I  like.  The  Comte  de 
Virieu  is  very  differently  situated!  He  is,  so  I've  been 
told,  a  clever,  cultivated  man.  He  ought  to  be  working 
— doing  something  for  his  country's  good.  And  then  he 
is  so  disagreeable!  He  makes  no  friends,  no  acquaint- 
ances. He  always  looks  as  if  he  was  doing  something 
of  which  he  was  ashamed.  He  never  appears  gay  or 
satisfied,  not  even  when  he  is  winning " 

"He  does  not  look  as  cross  as  Monsieur  Wachner," 
said  Sylvia,  smiling. 

"Monsieur  Wachner  is  like  me,"  said  Anna  calmly. 
"He  probably  made  a  fortune  in  business,  and  now  he 
and  his  wife  enjoy  risking  a  httle  money  at  play.  Why 
should  they  not?" 

"  Madame  Wachner  told  me  to-day  all  about  their  poof 
friend  who  was  drowned,"  said  Sylvia  irrelevantly. 

"Ah,  yes,  that  was  a  sad  affair!  They  were  very 
foolish  to  become  so  intimate  with  him.  Why,  they 
actually  had  him  staying  with  them  at  the  time!  You 
see,  they  had  a  villa  close  to  the  lake-side.  And  this 
young  Russian,  it  appears,  was  very  fond  of  boating.  It 
was  a  mysterious  affair,  because,  oddly  enough,  he  had 
not  been  out  in  the  town,  or  even  to  the  Casino,  for  four 
days  before  the  accident  happened.  There  was  a  notion 
among  some  people  that  he  had  committed  suicide,  but 
that,  I  fancy,  was  not  so.    He  had  won  a  large  sum  of 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  119 

money.    Some  thought  the  gold  weighed  down  his  body 

in  the  water .     But  that  is  absurd.    It  must  have 

been  the  weeds." 

"Madame  Wachner  told  me  that  quite  a  lot  of  money 
was  found  in  his  room,"  said  Sylvia  quickly. 

"No,  that  is  not  true.  About  four  hundred  francs 
were  found  in  his  bed-room.  That  was  all.  I  fancy  the 
police  made  themselves  rather  unpleasant  to  Monsieur 
Wachner.  The  Russian  Embassy  made  inquiries,  and 
it  seemed  so  odd  to  the  French  authorities  that  the  poor 
fellow  could  not  be  identified.  They  found  no  passport, 
no  papers  of  any  sort " 

"Have  you  a  passport?"  asked  Sylvia.  "Madame 
Wachner  asked  me  if  I  had  one.  But  I've  never  even 
seen  a  passport!" 

"No,"  said  Anna,  "I  have  not  got  a  passport  now.  I 
once  had  one,  but  I  lost  it.  One  does  not  require  such  a 
thing  in  a  civilised  country!  But  a  Russian  must  always 
have  a  passport,  it  is  an  absolute  law  in  Russia.  And  the 
disappearance  of  that  young  man's  passport  was  certainly 
strange — in  fact,  the  whole  affair  was  mysterious." 

"  It^ust  have  been  terrible  for  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Wachner,"  said  Sylvia  thoughtfully. 

"Oh  yes,  very  disagreeable  indeed!  Luckily  he  is  en- 
tirely absorbed  in  his  absurd  systems,  and  she  is  a  very 
cheerful  woman." 

"Yes,  indeed  she  is!"  Sylvia  could  not  help  smiling. 
"I  am  glad  we  have  got  to  know  them,  Anna.  It  is 
rather  mournful  when  one  knows  no  one  at  all  in  a  place 
of  this  kind." 

And  Anna  agreed,  indifferently. 


CHAPTER   X 

And  then  there  began  a  series  of  long  cloudless  days 
for  Sylvia  Bailey.  For  the  first  time  she  felt  as  if  she 
was  seeing  life,  and  such  seeing  was  very  pleasant  to  her. 

Not  in  her  wildest  dreams,  during  the  placid  days  of 
her  girlhood  and  brief  married  life,  had  she  conceived  of 
so  interesting  and  so  exhilarating  an  existence  as  that 
which  she  was  now  leading!  And  this  was  perhaps 
owing  in  a  measiu-e  to  the  fact  that  there  is,  if  one  may 
so  express  it,  a  spice  of  naughtiness  in  life  as  led  at  LaC' 
ville. 

In  a  mild,  a  very  mild,  way  Sylvia  Bailey  had  fallen 
a  victim  to  the  Goddess  of  Play.  She  soon  learned  to 
look  forward  to  the  hours  she  and  Anna  Wolsky  spent 
each  day  at  the  baccarat  tables.  But,  unlike  Anna, 
Syhda  was  never  tempted  to  risk  a  greater  sum  on  that 
dangerous  green  cloth  than  she  could  comfortably  afTord 
to  lose,  and  perhaps  just  because  this  was  so,  on  the 
whole  she  won  money  rather  than  lost  it. 

A  certain  change  had  come  over  the  relations  of  the 
two  women.  They  still  met  daily,  if  only  at  the  Casino, 
and  the}'  occasionally  took  a  walk  or  a  drive  together, 
but  Madame  Wolsky — and  Sylvia  Bailey  felt  uneasy  and 
growing  concern  that  it  was  so — now  lived  for  play,  and 
play  alone. 

Absorbed  in  the  simple  yet  fateful  turns  of  the  game, 
Anna  would  remain  silent  for  hours,  immersed  in  calcula- 

120 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUB  121 

tions,  and  scarcely  aware  of  what  went  on  round  her. 
She  and  Monsieur  Wachner — "L'Ami  Fritz,"  as  even 
Sylvia  had  fallen  into  the  way  of  calling  him — seencied 
scarcely  alive  unless  they  were  standing  or  sitting  round 
a  baccarat  table,  putting  down  or  taking  up  the  shining 
gold  pieces  which  they  treated  as  carelessly  as  if  they 
were  counters. 

But  it  was  not  the  easy,  idle,  purposeless  life  she  was 
now  leading  that  brought  the  pretty  English  widow  that 
strange,  unacknowledged  feeling  of  entire  content  with 
life. 

What  made  existence  at  Lacville  so  exciting  and  so  ex- 
ceptionally interesting  to  Sylvia  Bailey  was  her  friend- 
ship with  Comte  Paul  de  Virieu. 

There  is  in  every  woman  a  passion  for  romance,  and 
in  Sylvia  this  passion  had  been  baulked,  not  satisfied,  by 
her  first  marriage. 

Bill  Chester  loved  her  well  and  deeply,  but  he  was  her 
lawyer  and  trustee  as  well  as  her  lover.  He  had  an 
honest,  straightforward  nature,  and  when  with  her  some- 
thing always  prompted  Chester  to  act  the  part  of  candid 
friend,  and  the  part  of  candid  friend  fits  in  very  ill  with 
that  of  lover.  To  take  but  one  example  of  how  ill  his 
honesty  of  purpose  served  him  in  the  matter,  Sylvia  had 
never  really  forgiven  him  the  "fuss"  he  had  made  about 
her  string  of  pearls. 

But  with  the  Comte  de  Virieu  she  never  quite  knew 
what  to  be  at,  and  mystery  is  the  food  of  romance. 

At  the  Villa  du  Lac  the  two  were  almost  inseparable, 
and  yet  so  intelligently  and  quietly  did  the  Count  ar- 
range their  frequent  meetings — their  long  walks  and  talks 


122  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

in  the  large  deserted  garden,  their  pleasant  morning 
saunters  through  the  little  town — that  no  one,  or  so 
Sylvia  believed,  was  aware  of  any  special  intimacy  be- 
tween them. 

Sometimes,  as  they  paced  up  and  down  the  flower- 
bordered  paths  of  the  old  kitchen-garden,  or  when,  tired 
of  walking,  they  made  their  way  into  the  orangery  and 
sat  down  on  the  circular  stone  bench  by  the  fountain, 
Sylvia  would  remember,  deep  in  her  heart,  the  first  time 
Count  Paul  had  brought  her  there;  and  how  she  had 
been  a  little  frightened,  not  perhaps  altogether  unpleas- 
antly so,  by  his  proximity ! 

She  had  feared — but  she  was  now  deeply  ashamed  of 
having  entertained  such  a  thought — that  he  might  sud- 
denly begin  making  violent  love  to  her,  that  he  might 
perhaps  try  to  kiss  her!  Were  not  all  Frenchmen  of  his 
type  rather  gay  dogs? 

But  nothing — nothing  of  the  sort  had  ever  been  within 
measurable  distance  of  happening.  On  the  contrary,  he 
always  treated  her  with  scrupulous  respect,  and  he  never 
— and  this  sometimes  piqued  Sylvia — made  love  to  her, 
or  attempted  to  flirt  with  her.  Instead,  he  talked  to  her 
in  that  intimate,  that  confiding  fashion  which  a  woman 
finds  so  attractive  in  a  man  when  she  has  reason  to  be- 
lieve his  confidences  are  made  to  her  alone. 

When  Bill  Chester  asked  her  not  to  do  something  she 
desired  to  do,  Sylvia  felt  annoyed  and  impatient,  but 
when  Count  Paul,  as  she  had  fallen  into  the  way  of  call- 
ing him,  made  no  secret  of  his  wish  that  she  should  give 
up  play,  Sylvia  felt  touched  and  pleased  that  he  should 
care. 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  123 

Early  in  their  acquaintance  the  Count  had  warned  her 
against  making  casual  friendships  in  the  Gambling  Rooms, 
and  he  even  did  not  like  her  knowing — this  amused  Sylvia 
— the  harmless  Wachners. 

When  he  saw  her  talking  to  Madame  Wachner  in  the 
Club,  Count  Paul  would  look  across  the  baccarat  table 
and  there  would  come  a  little  frown  over  his  eyes — a 
frown  she  alone  could  see. 

And  as  the  days  went  on,  and  as  their  intimacy  seemed 
to  grow  closer  and  ever  closer,  there  came  across  Sylvia 
a  deep  wordless  wish — and  she  had  never  longed  for  any- 
thing so  much  in  her  life — to  rescue  her  friend  from  what 
he  admitted  to  be  his  terrible  vice  of  gambling.  In  this 
she  showed  rather  a  feminine  lack  of  logic,  for,  while 
wishing  to  wean  him  from  his  vice,  she  did  not  herself 
give  up  going  to  the  Casino. 

She  would  have  been  angry  indeed  had  the  truth  been 
whispered  to  her,  the  truth  that  it  was  not  so  much  her 
little  daily  gamble — as  Madame  Wachner  called  it — that 
made  Sylvia  so  faithful  an  attendant  at  the  Club;  it  was 
because  when  there  she  was  still  with  Paul  de  Virieu,  she 
could  see  and  sympathise  with  him  when  he  was  winning, 
and  grieve  when  he  was  losing,  as  alas!  he  often  lost. 

When  they  were  not  at  the  Casino  the  Comte  de  Virieu 
very  seldom  alluded  to  his  play,  or  to  the  good  or  ill 
fortune  which  might  have  befallen  him  that  day.  When 
with  her  he  tried,  so  much  was  clear  to  Sylvia,  to  forget 
his  passion  for  gambling. 

But  this  curious  friendship  of  hers  with  Count  Paul 
only  occupied,  in  a  material  sense,  a  small  part  of  Sylvia's 
daily  life  at  Lacville;    and  the  people  with  whom  she 


124  THE  CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR 

spent  most  of  her  time  were  still  Anna  Wolsky  and  Mon- 
sieur and  IMadame  Wachner,  or  perhaps  it  should  be 
said  iNIadame  Wachner. 

It  was  not  wonderful  that  jNIrs.  Bailey  liked  the  cheer- 
ful woman,  who  was  so  bright  and  jovial  in  manner,  and 
who  knew,  too,  how  to  flatter  so  cleverly.  When  with 
Madame  Wachner  Sylvia  was  made  to  feel  that  she  was 
not  only  very  pretty,  but  also  immensely  attractive,  and 
just  now  she  was  very  anxious  to  think  herself  both. 

Late  one  afternoon — and  they  all  four  always  met 
each  afternoon  at  the  Casino — Madame  Wachner  sud- 
denly invited  Sylvia  and  Anna  to  come  back  to  supper 
at  the  Chalet  des  Muguets. 

Anna  was  unwilling  to  accept  the  kindly  invitation. 
It  was  clear  that  she  did  not  wish  to  waste  as  much  time 
away  from  the  Casino  as  going  to  the  Wachners'  villa 
would  involve.  But,  seeing  that  Sylvia  was  eager  to  go, 
she  gave  way. 

Now  on  this  particular  afternoon  Sylvia  was  feeling 
rather  dull,  and,  as  she  expressed  it  to  herself,  "down 
on  her  luck,"  for  the  Comte  de  Virieu  had  gone  into 
Paris  for  a  few  hours. 

His  sister,  the  Duchesse  d'Eglemont,  had  come  up  from 
the  country  for  a  few  days,  and  the  great  pleasure  and 
delight  he  had  expressed  at  the  thought  of  seeing  her 
had  given  the  young  English  widow  a  little  pang  of  pain. 
It  made  her  feel  how  little  she  counted  in  his  life  after  all. 

And  so,  for  the  second  time,  Sylvia  visited  the  odd, 
fantastic-looking  Chalet  des  Muguets,  and  under  very 
pleasant  auspices. 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR  125 

This  evening  the  bare  dining-room  she  had  thought 
so  ugly  wore  an  air  of  festivity.  There  were  flowers  on 
the  round  table  and  on  the  bufTet,  but,  to  her  surprise,  a 
piece  of  oilcloth  now  hid  the  parquet  floor.  This  puzzled 
Sylvia,  as  such  trifling  little  matters  of  fact  often  puzzle 
a  fresh  young  mind.  Surely  the  oilcloth  had  not  been 
there  on  her  last  visit  to  the  villa?  She  remembered 
clearly  the  unpolished  parquet  floor. 

Thanks  to  the  hostess  and  to  Sylvia  herself,  supper 
was  a  bright,  merry  meal.  There  was  a  variety  of  cold 
meats,  some  fine  fruit,  and  a  plate  of  dainty  pastry. 

They  all  waited  on  one  another,  though  Madame 
Wachner  insisted  on  doing  most  of  the  work.  But 
L'Ami  Fritz,  for  once  looking  cheerful  and  eager,  mixed 
the  salad,  putting  in  even  more  vinegar  than  oil,  as  Mrs. 
Bailey  laughingly  confessed  that  she  hated  olive  oil ! 

After  they  had  eaten  their  appetising  little  meal,  the 
host  went  off  into  the  kitchen  where  Sylvia  had  had  tea 
on  her  first  visit  to  the  Chalet,  and  there  he  made  the  most 
excellent  coffee  for  them  all,  and  even  ]\Irs.  Bailey,  who 
was  treated  as  the  guest  of  honour,  though  she  knew  that 
coffee  was  not  good  for  her,  was  tempted  into  taking  some. 

One  thing,  however,  rather  dashed  her  pleasure  in  the 
entertainment. 

Madame  Wachner,  forgetting  for  once  her  usual  tact, 
suddenly  made  a  violent  attack  on  the  Comte  de  Virieu. 

They  were  all  talking  of  the  habitues  of  the  Casino: 
"The  only  one  I  do  not  like,"  she  exclaimed,  in  French, 
"is  that  Count — if  indeed  Count  he  be?  He  is  so  arro- 
gant, so  proud,  so  rude!  We  have  known  him  for  years, 
have  L'Ami  Fritz  and  I,  for  we  are  always  running  across 


126        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

him  at  Monte  Carlo  and  other  places.  But  no,  each  time 
we  meet  he  looks  at  us  as  if  he  was  a  fish.  He  does  not 
even  nod!" 

"When  the  Comte  de  Virieu  is  actually  playing,  he 
does  not  know  that  other  people  exist,"  said  Anna  Wol- 
sky,  slowly. 

She  had  looked  across  at  Slyvia  and  noticed  her  Eng- 
lish friend's  blush  and  look  of  embarrassment.  "I  used 
to  watch  him  two  years  ago  at  Monte  Carlo,  and  I  have 
never  seen  a  man  more  absorbed  in  his  play," 

"That  is  no  excuse!"  cried  Madame  Wachner,  scorn- 
fully. "Besides,  that  is  only  half  the  truth.  He  is 
ashamed  of  the  way  he  is  spending  his  life,  and  he  hates 
the  people  who  see  him  doing  it!  It  is  shameful  to  be 
so  idle.  A  strong  young  man  doing  nothing,  living  on 
charity,  so  they  say!  And  he  despises  all  those  who  do 
what  he  himself  is  not  ashamed  to  do." 

And  Sylvia,  looking  across  at  her,  said  to  herself  with 
a  heavy  sigh  that  this  was  true.  Madame  Wachner  had 
summed  up  Count  Paul  very  accurately. 

At  last  there  came  the  sound  of  a  carriage  in  the  quiet 
lane  outside. 

"Fritz!  Go  and  see  if  that  is  the  carriage  I  ordered 
to  come  here  at  nine  o'clock,"  said  his  wife  sharply;  and 
then,  as  he  got  up  silently  to  obey  her,  she  followed  him 
out  into  the  passage,  and  Sylvia,  who  had  very  quick 
ears,  heard  her  say,  in  low,  vehement  tones,  "  I  work  and 
work  and  work,  but  you  do  nothing!  Do  try  and  help 
me — it  is  for  your  sake  I  am  taking  all  this  trouble!" 

What  could  these  odd  words  mean?  At  what  was 
Madame  Wachner  working? 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  127 

A  sudden  feeling  of  discomfort  came  over  Sylvia. 
Then  the  stout,  jolly-looking  woman  was  not  without 
private  anxieties  and  cares?  There  had  been  something 
so  weary  as  well  as  so  angry  in  the  tone  in  which  Mad- 
ame Wachner  spoke  to  her  beloved  "Ami  Fritz." 

A  moment  later  he  was  hurrying  towards  the  gate. 

"Sophie,"  he  cried  out  from  the  garden,  "the  carriage 
is  here!  Come  along — we  have  wasted  too  much  time 
already " 

Like  Anna  Wolsky,  Monsieur  Wachner  grudged  every 
moment  spent  away  from  the  tables. 

Madame  Wachner  hurried  her  two  guests  into  her 
bed-room  to  put  on  their  hats. 

Anna  Wolsky  walked  over  to  the  window. 

"What  a  strange,  lonely  place  to  live  in!"  she  said,  and 
drew  the  lace  shawl  she  was  wearing  a  little  more  closely 
about  her  thin  shoulders.  "  And  that  wood  over  there — 
I  should  be  afraid  to  live  so  near  a  wood!  I  should 
think  that  there  might  be  queer  people  concealed  there." 

"Bah!  Why  should  we  be  frightened,  even  if  there 
were  queer  people  there!" 

"Well,  but  sometimes  you  must  have  a  good  deal  of 
money  in  this  house." 

Madame  Wachner  laughed. 

"When  we  have  so  much  money  that  we  cannot  carry 
it  about,  and  that,  alas!  is  not  very  often — but  still, 
when  Fritz  makes  a  big  win,  we  go  into  Paris  and  bank 
the  money." 

"  I  do  not  trouble  to  do  that,"  said  Anna,  "  for  I  always 
carry  all  my  money  about  with  me.  What  do  you  do?" 
she  turned  to  Sylvia  Bailey. 


128  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

"  I  leave  it  in  my  trunk  at  the  hotel,"  said  Sylvia.  "  The 
servants  at  the  Villa  du  Lac  seem  to  be  perfectly  honest 
— in  fact  they  are  mostly  related  to  the  proprietor,  M. 
Polperro." 

"Oh,  but  that  is  quite  wrong!"  exclaimed  ]\Iadame 
Wachner,  eagerly.  "  You  should  never  leave  your  money 
in  the  hotel ;  you  should  always  carry  it  about  with  j'ou — 
in  little  bags  like  this.     See!" 

Again  she  suddenly  lifted  the  light  alpaca  skirt  she 
was  wearing,  as  she  had  done  before,  in  this  very  room, 
on  the  occasion  of  Sylvia's  first  visit  to  the  Chalet. 
"That  is  the  way  to  carry  money  in  a  place  like  this!" 
she  said,  smiling.  "But  now  hurry,  or  all  our  evening 
w^ill  be  gone!" 

They  left  the  house,  and  hastened  down  the  garden  to 
the  gate,  where  L'Ami  Fritz  received  his  wife  with  a 
grumbling  complaint  that  they  had  been  so  long. 

And  he  was  right,  for  the  Casino  was  very  full.  Sylvia 
made  no  attempt  to  play.  Somehow  she  did  not  care 
for  the  Club  when  Count  Paul  was  not  there. 

She  was  glad  when  she  was  at  last  able  to  leave  the 
others  for  the  Villa  du  Lac. 

Anna  Wolsky  accompanied  her  friend  to  the  entrance 
of  the  Casino.  The  Comte  de  Virieu  was  just  coming  in 
as  Sylvia  went  out;  bowing  distantly  to  the  two  ladies, 
he  hurried  through  the  vestibule  towards  the  Club. 

Sylvia's  heart  sank.  Not  even  after  spending  a  day 
with  his  beloved  sister  could  he  resist  the  lure  of  play! 


CHAPTER  XI 

During  much  of  the  night  that  followed  Sylvia  lay 
awake,  her  mind  full  of  the  Comte  de  Virieu,  and  of  the 
strange  friendship  which  had  sprung  up  between  them. 

Their  brief  meeting  at  the  door  of  the  Casino  had 
affected  her  very  painfully.  As  he  had  passed  her  with 
a  distant  bow,  a  look  of  shame,  of  miserable  unease,  had 
come  over  Count  Paul's  face. 

Yes,  Madame  Wachner  had  summed  him  up  very 
shrewdly,  if  unkindly.  He  was  ashamed,  not  only  of  the 
way  in  which  he  was  wasting  his  life,  but  also  of  the  com- 
pany into  which  his  indulgence  of  his  vice  of  gambling 
brought  him.  ^ 

And  Sylvia — it  was  a  bitter  thought — was  of  that 
company.  That  fact  must  be  faced  by  her.  True,  she 
was  not  a  gambler  in  the  sense  that  most  of  the  people 
she  met  and  saw  daily  at  the  Casino  were  gamblers,  but 
that  was  simply  because  the  passion  of  play  did  not  ab- 
sorb her  as  it  did  them.  It  was  her  good  fortune,  not 
any  virtue  in  herself,  that  set  her  apart  from  Anna 
Wolsky. 

And  now  she  asked  herself — or  rather  her  conscience 
asked  her — whether  she  would  not  do  well  to  leave  Lac- 
ville;  to  break  off  this  strange  and — ^yes,  this  dangerous 
intimacy  with  a  man  of  whom  she  knew  so  very  little, 
apart  from  the  great  outstanding  fact  that  he  was  a  con- 
firmed gambler,  and  that  he  had  given  up  all  that  makes 

129 


130  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

life  worth  living  to  such  a  man  as  he,  in  order  to  drag  on 
a  dishonoured,  purposeless  life  at  one  or  other  of  the  great 
gambling  centres  of  the  civilised  world? 

And  yet  the  thought  of  going  away  from  Lacville  was 
already  intolerable  to  Sylvia.  There  had  arisen  between 
the  Frenchman  and  herself  a  kind  of  close,  wordless  under- 
standing and  sympathy  which  she,  at  any  rate,  still  called 
"  friendship. "  But  she  would  probably  have  assented  to 
Meredith's  words,  "  Friendship,  I  fancy,  means  one  heart 
between  two." 

At  last  she  fell  into  a  troubled  sleep,  and  dreamt  a  dis- 
turbing dream. 

She  found  herself  wandering  about  the  Chalet  des 
Muguets,  trying  to  find  a  way  out  of  the  locked  and  shut- 
tered building.  The  ugly  little  rooms  were  empty.  It 
was  winter,  and  she  was  shivering  with  cold.  Someone 
must  have  locked  her  in  by  mistake.  She  had  been  for- 
gotten. .  .  . 

"Toe,  toe,  toe!"  at  the  door.  And  Sylvia  sat  up  in 
bed  relieved  of  her  nightmare.  It  was  eight  o'clock! 
She  had  overslept  herself.  F^licie  was  bringing  in  her 
tea,  and  on  the  tray  lay  a  letter  addressed  in  a  handwrit- 
ing Sylvia  did  not  know,  and  on  which  was  a  French 
stamp. 

She  turned  the  pale-grey  envelope  over  doubtfully, 
wondering  if  it  was  really  meant  for  her.  But  yes — of 
that  there  could  be  no  doubt,  for  it  was  addressed,  "  Mad- 
ame Bailey,  Villa  du  Lac,  Lacville-les-Bains. " 

She  opened  it  to  find  that  the  note  contained  a  grace- 
fully-worded invitation  to  ddjeuner  for  the  next  day,  and 
the  signature  ran — "Marie-Anne  d'Eglemont." 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  131 

Why,  it  must  be  Paul  de  Virieu's  sister!  How  very 
kind  of  her,  and — and  how  very  kind  of  him. 

The  letter  must  have  been  actually  written  when  Count 
Paul  was  in  Paris  with  his  sister — and  yet,  when  they  had 
passed  one  another  the  evening  before,  he  had  bowed  as 
distantly,  as  coldly,  as  he  might  have  done  to  the  most 
casual  of  acquaintances. 

Sylvia  got  up,  filled  with  a  tumult  of  excited  feeling 
which  this  simple  invitation  to  luncheon  scarcely  war- 
ranted. 

But  Paul  de  Virieu  came  in  from  his  ride  also  eager, 
excited,  smiling. 

"  Have  you  received  a  note  from  my  sister?  "  he  asked, 
hurrying  towards  her  in  the  dining-room  which  they  now 
had  to  themselves  each  morning.  "  When  I  told  her  how 
you  and  I  had  become" — he  hesitated  a  moment,  and 
then  added  the  words,  "good  friends,  she  said  how  much 
she  would  like  to  meet  you.  I  know  that  you  and  my 
dear  Marie-Anne  would  like  one  another " 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  your  sister  to  ask  me  to  come  and 
see  her,"  said  Sylvia,  a  little  stiffly. 

"I  am  going  back  to  Paris  this  evening,"  he  went  on, 
"to  stay  with  my  sister  for  a  couple  of  nights.  So  if  you 
can  come  to-morrow  to  lunch,  as  I  think  my  sister  has 
asked  you  to  do,  I  will  meet  you  at  the  station. " 

After  breakfast  they  went  out  into  the  garden,  and 
when  they  were  free  of  the  house  Count  Paul  said  sud- 
denly, 

"I  told  Marie-Anne  that  you  were  fond  of  riding, 
and,  with  your  permission,  she  proposes  to  send  over  a 
horse  for  you  every  morning.    And,  Madame — forgive 


132  THE   CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

me — but  I  told  her  I  feared  you  had  no  riding  habit! 
You  and  she,  however,  are  much  the  same  height,  and 
she  thinks  that  she  might  be  able  to  lend  you  one  if  you 
\sill  honour  her  by  accepting  the  loan  of  it  during  the  time 
you  are  at  Lacville. " 

Sylvia  was  bewildered,  she  scarcely  knew  how  to  accept 
go  much  kindness. 

"  If  you  will  write  a  line  to  my  sister  some  time  to-day, " 
continued  the  Count,  "  I  will  be  the  bearer  of  your  letter.  '* 

That  day  marked  a  very  great  advance  in  the  friend- 
ship of  Sylvia  Bailey  and  Paul  de  Virieu. 

Till  that  day,  much  as  he  had  talked  to  her  about 
himself  and  his  life,  and  the  many  curious  adventures  he 
had  had,  for  he  had  travelled  a  great  deal,  and  was  a 
cultivated  man,  he  had  very  seldom  spoken  to  her  of  his 
relations. 

But  to-day  he  told  her  a  great  deal  about  them,  and 
she  found  herself  taking  a  very  keen,  intimate  interest 
in  this  group  of  French  people  whom  she  had  never  seen 
— whom,  perhaps,  with  one  exception,  she  never  would 
see. 

How  unlike  English  folk  they  must  be — these  relations 
of  Count  Paul!  For  the  matter  of  that,  how  unlike  any 
people  Sylvia  had  ever  seen  or  heard  of. 

First,  he  told  her  of  the  sweet-natured,  pious  young 
duchess  who  was  to  be  her  hostess  on  the  morrow — the 
sister  whom  Paul  loved  so  dearly,  and  to  whom  he  owed 
so  much. 

Then  he  described,  in  less  kindly  terms,  her  proud 
narrow-minded,  if  generous,  husband,  the  French  duke 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  133 

who  still  lived — thanks  to  the  fact  that  his  grandmother 
had  been  the  daughter  of  a  great  Russian  banker — much 
as  must  have  lived  the  nobles  in  the  Middle  Ages — apart, 
that  is,  from  everything  that  would  remind  him  that  there 
was  anything  in  the  world  of  which  he  disapproved  or 
which  he  disliked. 

The  Due  d'Eglemont  ignored  the  fact  that  France 
was  a  Republic;  he  still  talked  of  "the  King,"  and  went 
periodically  into  waiting  on  the  Duke  of  Orleans. 

Count  Paul  also  told  Sylvia  of  his  great-uncle  and 
godfather,  the  Cardinal,  who  lived  in  Italy,  and  who 
had — or  so  his  family  liked  to  believe — so  nearly  become 
Pope. 

Then  there  were  his  three  old  maiden  great-aunts, 
who  had  all  desired  to  be  nuns,  but  who  apparently  had 
not  had  the  courage  to  do  so  when  it  came  to  the  point. 
They  dw^elt  together  in  a  remote  Burgundian  chateau, 
and  they  each  spent  an  hour  daily  in  their  chapel  praying 
that  their  dear  nephew  Paul  might  be  rescued  from  the 
evils  of  play. 

And  as  Paul  de  Virieu  told  Sylvia  Bailey  of  all  these 
curious  old-world  folk  of  his,  Sylvia  wondered  more  and 
more  why  he  led  the  kind  of  existence  he  was  leading  now. 

For  the  first  time  since  Sylvia  had  come  to  Lacville, 
neither  she  nor  Count  Paul  spent  any  part  of  that  after- 
noon at  the  Casino.  They  were  both  at  that  happy  stage 
of — shall  we  say  friendship? — when  a  man  and  a  woman 
cannot  see  too  much  of  one  another;  when  time  is  as  if  it 
were  not;  when  nothing  said  or  done  can  be  wrong  in 
the  other's  sight;  when  Love  is  still  a  soft  and  an  invisible 


134  THE    CHINK   IN   THE  ARMOUR 

presence,  with  naught  about  him  of  the  exacting  tyrant 
he  will  so  soon  become. 

Count  Paul  postponed  his  departure  for  Paris  till  after 
dinner,  and  not  till  she  went  up  to  dress  did  Sylvia  sit 
down  to  write  her  answer  to  the  Duchesse  d'Eglemont. 

For  a  long  while  she  held  her  pen  in  her  hand.  How 
was  she  to  address  Paul  de  Virieu's  sister?  Must  she 
call  her  "Dear  Madame"?  Should  she  call  her  "Dear 
Duchesse"?  It  was  really  an  unimportant  matter,  but 
it  appeared  very  important  to  Sylvia  Bailey.  She  was 
exceedingly  anxious  not  to  commit  any  social  solecism. 

And  then,  while  she  was  still  hesitating,  still  sitting 
with  the  pen  poised  in  her  hand,  there  came  a  knock  at 
the  door. 

The  maid  handed  her  a  note;  it  was  from  Count  Paul, 
the  first  letter  he  had  ever  written  to  her. 

"Madame," — so  ran  the  note — "it  occurs  to  me  that 
you  might  like  to  answer  my  sister  in  French,  and  so  I 
venture  to  send  you  the  sort  of  letter  that  you  might  per- 
haps care  to  write.  Each  country  has  its  own  usages  in 
these  matters — that  must  be  my  excuse  for  my  apparent 
impertinence. " 

And  then  there  followed  a  prettily-turned  little  epistle 
which  Sylvia  copied,  feeling  perhaps  a  deeper  gratitude 
than  a  far  greater  service  would  have  won  him  from  her. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  couple  of  hours  later  Sylvia  and  Count  Paul  parted 
at  the  door  of  the  Casino.  He  held  her  hand  longer  than 
was  usual  with  him  when  bidding  her  good-night;  then, 
dropping  it,  he  Hfted  his  hat  and  hurried  off  towards  the 
station. 

Sylvia  stood  in  the  dusk  and  looked  after  him  till  a 
turn  in  the  short  road  hid  his  hurrying  figure  from  her 
sight. 

She  felt  very  much  moved,  touched  to  the  core  of  her 
heart.  She  knew  just  as  well  as  if  he  had  told  her  why  the 
Comte  de  Virieu  had  given  up  his  evening's  play  to-night. 
He  had  left  Lacville,  and  arranged  to  meet  her  in  Paris  the 
next  day,  in  order  that  their  names  might  not  be  coupled — 
as  would  have  certainly  been  the  case  if  they  had  travelled 
together  into  Paris  the  next  morning — by  M,  Polperro 
and  the  good-natured,  but  rather  vulgar  Wachners. 

As  she  turned  and  walked  slowly  through  the  Casino, 
moving  as  in  a  dream,  Sylvia  suddenly  felt  herself  smartly 
tapped  on  the  shoulder, 

She  turned  round  quickly — then  she  smiled.  It  was 
Madame  Wachner. 

"Why  'ave  you  not  come  before?"  her  friend  exclaimed. 
"Madame  Wolsky  is  making  such  a  sensation!  Come 
quick — quick!"  and  she  hurried  the  unresisting  Sylvia 
towards  the  Club  rooms.  "I  come  downstairs  to  see  if 
I  could  find  you, "  went  on  Madame  Wachner  breathlessly. 

What  could  be  happening?    Sylvia  felt  the  other's  ex- 

135 


136        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

citement  to  be  contagious.  As  she  entered  the  gambUng 
room  she  saw  that  a  large  crowd  was  gathered  round  the 
centre  Baccarat  table. 

"A  party  of  young  men  out  from  Paris,"  explained 
Madame  Wachner  in  a  low  tone,  "are  throwing  about 
their  money.  It  might  have  been  terrible.  But  no,  it 
is  a  great  piece  of  good  fortune  for  Madame  Wolsky!" 

And  still  Sylvia  did  not  understand. 

They  walked  together  up  to  the  table,  and  then,  with 
amazement  and  a  curious  feeling  of  fear  clutching  at  her 
heart,  Sylvia  Bailey  saw  that  Anna  Wolsky  was  holding 
the  Bank. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  seen  a  lady  in  the 
Banker's  seat. 

A  thick  bundle  of  notes,  on  which  were  arranged  sym- 
metrical piles  of  gold  lay  in  front  of  Madame  Wolsky, 
and  as  was  always  the  case  when  she  was  really  excited, 
Anna's  face  had  become  very  pale,  and  her  eyes  glistened 
feverishly. 

The  play,  too,  was  much  higher  than  usual.  This 
was  owing  to  the  fact  that  at  one  end  of  the  table  there 
stood  a  little  group  of  five  young  men  in  evening  dress. 
They  talked  and  laughed  as  they  flung  their  money  on 
the  green  cloth,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  the  fact  that  they 
were  the  centre  of  attraction. 

"One  of  them,"  whispered  Madame  Wachner  eagerly, 
"had  already  lost  eight  thousand  francs  when  I  went 
downstairs  to  look  for  you!  See,  they  are  still  losing. 
Our  friend  has  the  devil's  own  luck  to-night!  I  have 
forbidden  L'Ami  Fritz  to  play  at  all.  Nothing  can  stand 
against  her.    She  sweeps  the  money  up  every  time.    If 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR  137 

Fritz  likes,  he  can  go  downstairs  to  the  lower  room  and 
play." 

But  before  doing  so  L'Ami  Fritz  lingered  awhile,  watch- 
ing Madame  Wolsky's  wonderful  run  of  luck  with  an  ex- 
pression of  painful  envy  and  greed  on  his  wolfish  counte- 
nance. 

Sylvia  went  round  to  a  point  where  she  could  watch 
Anna's  face.  To  a  stranger  Madame  Wolsky  might  have 
appeared  almost  indifferent ;  but  there  had  come  two  spots 
of  red  on  her  cheeks,  and  the  hand  with  which  she  raked 
up  the  money  trembled. 

The  words  rang  out,  "  Faitcs  vos  jeux,  Messieurs,  Mes- 
dames.'"    Then,  " Le  jeu  est  fait!    Rien  ne  va  plus!" 

The  luck  suddenly  turned  against  Anna.  She  looked 
up,  and  found  Sylvia's  eyes  fixed  on  her.  She  made 
a  slight  motion,  as  if  she  wished  her  friend  to  go  away. 

Sylvia  slipped  back,  and  walked  quietly  round  the 
table.  Then  she  stood  behind  Anna,  and  once  more  the 
luck  came  back,  and  the  lady  banker's  pile  of  notes  and 
gold  grew  higher  and  higher.  .  .  . 

"This  is  the  first  time  a  woman  has  held  the  Bank 
this  month,"  Sylvia  heard  someone  say. 

And  then  there  came  an  answer,  "  Yes,  and  it  is  by  far 
the  best  Bank  we  have  had  this  month — in  fact,  it's  the 
best  play  we've  had  this  season!" 

At  last  Anna  pushed  away  her  chair  and  got  up. 

One  of  the  young  men  who  had  lost  a  good  deal  of 
money  came  up  to  her  and  said  smilingly. 

"I  hope,  Madame,  you  are  not  going  away.  I  pro- 
pose now  to  take  the  Bank;  surely,  you  will  allow  me  to 
have  my  revenge?" 


138  THE   CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

Anna  Wolsky  laughed. 

"Certainly!"  she  answered.  "I  propose  to  go  on 
playing  for  some  time  longer." 

He  took  the  Banker's  seat,  and  the  crowd  dispersed  to 
the  other  tables.  L'Ami  Fritz  slipped  away  downstairs, 
but  his  wife  stayed  on  in  the  Club  by  Sylvia's  side. 

Soon  the  table  was  as  much  surrounded  as  before,  for 
Anna  was  again  winning.  She  had  won  as  banker,  now 
she  won  as  simple  player,  and  all  those  about  her  began 
to  "follow  her  luck"  with  excellent  results  to  themselves. 

The  scene  reminded  Sylvia  of  that  first  evening  at  the 
Casino.  It  was  only  three  weeks  ago,  and  yet  how  full, 
how  crowded  the  time  had  been ! 

Somehow  to-night  she  did  not  feel  inclined  to  play. 
To  her  surprise  and  amusement  she  saw  Madame  Wachner 
actually  risk  a  twenty-franc  piece.  A  moment  later  the 
stake  was  doubled,  and  soon  the  good  lady  had  won  nine 
gold  pieces.   Her  face  flushed  with  joy  like  a  happy  child's. 

"Oh,  why  is  not  Fritz  here?"  she  exclaimed.  "How 
sorry  I  am  I  sent  him  downstairs!  But,  never  mind,  his 
old  wife  is  making  some  money  for  once!" 

At  last  the  Banker  rose  from  the  table.  He  was  pretty 
well  cleared  out.  Smiling  and  bowing  to  Anna,  he  said, 
"Well,  Madame,  I  congratulate  you!  You  must  have  a 
very  powerful  mascot." 

Anna  shook  her  head  gaily. 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  win  from  a  millionaire, "  she  whispered 
to  Sylvia,  "for  one  knows  it  does  not  hurt  him!  That 
young  man  has  a  share  in  the  profit  on  every  piece  of 
sugar  sold  in  France,  and  you  know  how  fond  the  French 
are  of  sweet  things!" 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR  139 

She  turned  from  the  table,  followed  by  Sylvia  and 
Madame  Wachner.  ^ 

"What  will  you  do  with  all  your  money?"  asked 
Madame  Wachner  anxiously. 

"I  told  one  of  the  ushers  to  have  it  all  turned  into 
notes  for  me,"  she  answered  indifferently.  "As  to  what 
I  shall  do  with  it! — well,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  go  into 
Paris  and  bank  some  of  it  in  a  day  or  two.  I  shan't  play 
to-morrow.  I  shall  take  a  rest — I  deserve  a  rest!"  She 
looked  extraordinarily  excited  and  happy. 

"Shall  we  drop  you  at  the  Pension  Malfait?"  said 
Madame  Wachner  amiably.     "It  is  right  on  our  way 

home,  you  know.     I,  too,  have  made  money "  she 

'ihuckled  joyously. 

Madame  Wachner  left  the  two  friends  standing  in 
the  hall  while  she  went  to  look  for  her  husband  in  the 
public  gambling  room,  and  as  they  stood  there  Sylvia 
became  conscious  that  they  were  being  stared  at  with 
a  great  deal  of  interest  and  curiosity.  The  news  of 
Anna  Wolsky's  extraordinary  good  luck  had  evidently 
spread. 

"I  wish  I  had  come  in  a  little  earlier,"  said  Sylvia 
presently.  "I've  never  seen  you  take  the  Bank  before. 
Surely  this  is  the  first  time  you  have  done  so?" 

"YeSjithis  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever  been  tempted 
to  take  the  Bank  at  Lacville.  But  somehow  I  suddenly 
felt  as  if  I  should  be  lucky  to-night.  You  see,  I've  made 
a  good  deal  of  money  the  last  day  or  two,  and  Madame 
Wachner  persuaded  me  to  try  my  luck," 

"I  wish  you  had  told  me  you  were  thinking  of  taking 
the  Bank." 


140        THE  CHIXK  IX  THE  ARMOUR 

"I  would  have  told  you,"  said  Anna  quietly,  "if  I  had 
seen  you  to-day.  But  I  have  been  seeing  very  little  of 
you  lately,  Sylvia.  \Vhy,  you  are  more  with  ^Madame 
Wachner  than  with  me!" 

She  did  not  speak  unkindly,  but  Sylvia  felt  a  pang  of 
remorse.  She  had  indeed  seen  very  little  of  Anna  Wol- 
sky  during  the  last  few  days,  but  that  was  not  because  she 
had  been  with  ]\Iadame  Wachner. 

"I  will  come  and  see  you  for  a  little  while  to-night," 
she  said  impetuously,  "  for  I  am  going  to  spend  to-morrow 

in  Paris — with  a  friend  who  is  there  just  now " 

i    She  hurried  out  the  half-truth  with  a  curious  feeling  of 
guilt. 

"Yes,  do  come!"  cried  Anna  eagerly.  "You  can  stay 
with  me  while  the  carriage  takes  the  Wachners  on  home, 
and  then  it  can  call  for  you  on  the  way  back.  I  should 
not  like  you  to  walk  to  the  Villa  du  Lac  alone  at  this 
time  of  night." 

"Ah,  but  I'm  not  like  you;  I  haven't  won  piles  of 
money!"  said  Sylvia,  smiling. 

"No,  but  that  makes  very  little  difference  in  a  place 
like  this " 

And  then  Monsieur  and  Madame  Wachner  joined  them. 
L'Ami  Fritz  looked  quite  moved  out  of  himself.  He 
seized  Anna  by  the  hand.  "I  congratulate  you!"  he 
said  heartily.  "  What  a  splendid  thing  to  go  on  winning 
like  that.  I  wish  I  had  been  there,  for  I  might  have  fol- 
lowed your  luck!" 

They  all  four  walked  out  of  the  Casino.     It  was  a  very 
dark  night. 
N"And  what  will  you  do  with  all  that  money?"  Mon- 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  141 

sieur  Wachncr  solicitously  inquired.  "It  is  a  great  sum 
to  carry  about,  is  it  not?" 

"It  is  far  better  to  carry  about  one's  money  than  to 
trust  it  to  anyone  but  to  a  well-managed  bank, "  exclaimed 
his  wife,  before  Anna  could  answer  the  question.  "As 
for  the  hotel-keepers,  I  would  not  trust  them  with  one 
penny.  What  happened  to  a  friend  of  ours,  eh,  Fritz, 
tell  them  that?" 

They  were  now  packed  into  an  open  carriage,  and  driv- 
ing towards  the  Pension  Malfait. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,"  said  her 
husband,  crossly. 

"  Yes,  you  do !  That  friend  of  ours  who  was  boarding 
in  one  of  those  small  houses  in  the  Condamine  at  Monte 
Carlo,  and  who  one  day  won  a  lot  of  money.  He  gave 
his  winnings  to  his  hotel-keeper  to  keep  for  the  night. 
Next  day  the  man  said  his  safe  had  been  broken  open  by 
a  foreign  waiter  who  had  disappeared.  Our  friend  had 
no  redress — none  at  all !    Malfait  may  be  a  very  good  sort 

of  man,  but  I  would  not  give  him  your  money "she 

turned  to  Anna. 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  said  Madame  Wolsky.  "  I  should 
never  think  of  entrusting  a  really  large  sum  of  money  to 
a  man  of  whom  I  know  nothing.  It  is,  as  you  say,  very 
much  better  to  keep  one's  money  on  one's  person.  It's 
the  plan  I've  always  followed.  Then,  if  it  is  stolen,  or  if 
one  loses  it,  one  has  only  oneself  to  blame." 

"  It  is  very  exciting  taking  the  Bank,"  she  added,  after 
a  pause.  "I  think  I  shall  take  the  Bank  again  next 
time  I  play." 

The  short  drive  was  soon  over,  and  as  Anna  and  Sylvia 


142        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

were  going  into  the  Pension  Malfait,  Madame  Wachner 
called  out,  "Will  you  both  come  to  supper  to-morrow?" 

Sylvia  shook  her  head. 

"I  am  going  into  Paris  for  the  day,"  she  said,  "and  I 
shall  feel  tired  when  I  get  back.  But  many  thanks,  all 
the  same." 

"Then  you  must  come" — Madame  Wachner  addressed 
Anna  Wolsky.  "We  also  will  have  a  rest  from  the 
Casino." 

"Very  well!     I  accept  gratefully  your  kind  invitation." 

"Come  early.  Come  at  six,  and  we  can  'ave  a  cosy 
chat  first." 

"Yes,  I  will!" 

After  giving  directions  that  they  were  to  be  told  when 
the  carriage  had  come  back  from  the  Chalet  des  Muguets, 
the  two  friends  went  up  to  Anna  Wolsky's  bed-room. 

Sylvia  sat  down  by  the  open  window. 

"You  need  not  light  a  candle,  Anna,"  she  said.  "It's 
so  pleasant  just  now,  so  quiet  and  cool,  and  the  light 
would  only  attract  those  horrid  midges.  They  seem  to 
me  the  only  things  I  have  to  find  fault  with  in  Lacville!" 

Anna  Wolsky  came  and  sat  down  in  the  darkness  close 
to  the  younger  woman. 

"Sylvia,"  she  said,  "dear  little  Sylvia!  Sometimes  I 
feel  uneasy  at  having  brought  you  to  Lacville."  She 
spoke  in  a  thoughtful  and  very  serious  tone. 

"Indeed,  you  need  feel  nothing  of  the  kind." 

Sylvia  Bailey  put  out  her  hand  and  took  the  other 
woman's  hand  in  her  own.  She  knew  in  her  heart  what 
Anna  meant,  but  she  wilfully  pretended  to  misunder- 
stand her. 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE  ARMOUR  143 

"You  need  never  think  that  I  run  the  sUghtest  risk  of 
becoming  a  gambler,"  she  went  on,  a  little  breathlessly. 
"I  was  looking  at  my  account-book  to-day,  and  I  find 
that  since  I  have  been  here  I  have  lost  seventy  francs. 
Two  days  ago  I  had  won  a  hundred  and  ten  francs.  So 
you  see  it  is  not  a  very  serious  matter,  is  it?  Just  think 
of  all  the  fun  I've  had!  It's  well  worth  the  money  I've 
lost.     Besides,  I  shall  probably  win  it  all  back " 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  the  money,"  said  Anna  Wolsky 
slowly. 

Sylvia  made  a  restless  movement,  and  took  her  hand 
out  of  Anna's  affectionate  clasp. 

"I'm  afraid  that  you  are  becoming  very  fond  of  the 
Comte  de  Virieu,"  went  on  Anna,  in  a  low  voice  but 
very  deliberately.  "You  must  forgive  me,  Sylvia,  but 
I  am  older  than  you  are.  Have  you  thought  of  the  con- 
sequences of  this  friendship  of  yours?  I  confess  that  at 
the  beginning  I  credited  that  man  with  the  worst  of 
motives,  but  now  I  feel  afraid  that  he  is  in  love — in  fact 
I  feel  sure  that  he  is  madly  in  love  with  you.  Do  you 
know  that  he  never  takes  his  eyes  off  you  in  the  Club? 
Often  he  forgets  to  pick  up  his  winnings.     .     .     ." 

Sylvia's  heart  began  to  beat.  She  wondered  if  Anna 
was  indeed  telling  the  truth.  She  almost  bent  forward 
and  kissed  her  friend  in  her  gratitude — but  all  she  said 
was,  and  that  defiantly, 

"You  can  believe  me  when  I  say  that  he  has  never  said 
a  word  of  love  to  me.  He  has  never  even  flirted  with  me. 
I  give  you  my  word  that  that  is  so!" 

"Ah,  but  it  is  just  that  fact  that  makes  me  believe  that 
he  cares.    Flirtation  is  an  English  art,  not  a  French  art, 


144  THE   CHINK  IN  THE   AILMOUR 

my  dear  Sylvia.  A  Frenchman  either  loves — and  when 
he  loves  he  adores  on  his  knees — or  else  he  has  no  use,  no 
use  at  all,  for  what  English  people  mean  by  flirtation — 
the  make-believe  of  love!  I  should  feel  much  more  at 
ease  if  the  Count  had  insulted  you " 

"Anna!" 

"Yes,  indeed!  I  am  quite  serious.  I  fear  he  loves 
you." 

And  as  Sylvia  gave  a  long,  involuntary,  happy  sigh, 
Anna  went  on:  "Of  course,  I  do  not  regard  him  with 
trust  or  with  liking.  How  could  I?  On  the  other  hand, 
I  do  not  go  as  far  as  the  Wachners;  they,  it  is  quite  clear, 
evidently  know  something  very  much  to  the  Count's 
discredit." 

"I  don't  believe  they  do!"  cried  Sylvia,  hotly.  "It 
is  mere  prejudice  on  their  part!  He  does  not  like  them, 
and  they  know  it.  He  thinks  them  vulgar  sort  of  people, 
and  he  suspects  that  Monsieur  Wachner  is  German — 
that  is  quite  enough  for  him." 

"But,  after  all,  it  does  not  really  matter  what  the 
Wachners  think  of  the  Comte  de  Virieu,  or  what  he 
thinks  of  them,"  said  Anna.  "What  matters  is  what 
you  think  of  him,  and  what  he  thinks  of  you." 

Sylvia  was  glad  that  the  darkness  hid  her  deep,  burn- 
ing blushes  from  Anna  Wolsky. 

"You  do  not  realise,"  said  the  Polish  lady,  gravely, 
"what  your  life  would  be  if  you  were  married  to  a  man 
whose  only  interest  in  life  is  play.  Mind  you,  I  do  not 
say  that  a  gambler  does  not  inake  a  kind  husband.  We 
have  an  example" — she  smiled  a  little — "in  this  Mon- 
sieur Wachner.    He  is  certainly  very  fond  of  his  wife,  and 


THE   CHINK   IX  THE   ARMOUR  145 

she  is  very  fond  of  him.  But  would  you  like  your  hus- 
band always  to  prefer  his  vice  to  you?" 

Sylvia  made  no  answer. 

"But  why  am  I  talking  like  that?"  Anna  Wolsky 
started  up  suddenly.  "It  is  absurd  of  me  to  think  it 
possible  that  you  would  dream  of  marrying  the  Comte 
de  Virieul  No,  no,  my  dear  child,  this  poor  Frenchman 
is  one  of  those  men  who,  even  if  personally  charming, 
no  wise  woman  would  think  of  marr^dng.  He  is  abso- 
lutely ruined.  I  do  not  suppose  he  has  a  penny  left  of 
his  own  in  the  world.  He  would  not  have  the  money 
to  buy  you  a  wedding-ring.  You  would  have  to  provide 
even  that!    It  would  be  madness — absolute  madness!" 

"I  do  not  think,"  said  Sylvia,  in  a  low  tone,  "that 
there  is  the  slightest  likelihood  of  my  ever  marrying  the 
Comte  de  Virieu.  You  forget  that  I  have  known  him 
only  a  short  time,  and  that  he  has  never  said  a  word  of 
love  to  me.    As  you  say,  all  he  cares  about  is  play." 

"  Surely  you  must  be  as  well  aware  as  I  am  that  lately 
he  has  played  a  great  deal  less,"  said  Anna,  "and  the  time 
that  he  would  have  spent  at  the  Club — well,  you  and  I 
know  very  well  where  he  has  spent  the  time,  Sylvia. 
He  has  spent  it  with  you." 

"And  isn't  that  a  good  thing?"  asked  Sylvia,  eagerly. 
"Isn't  it  far  better  that  he  should  spend  his  time  talking 
to  me  about  ordinary  things  than  in  the  Casino?  Let 
me  assure  you  again,  and  most  solemnly,  Anna,  that  he 
never  makes  love  to  me " 

"Of  course  it  is  a  good  thing  for  him  that  he  plays 
less" — Anna  spoke  impatiently — "but  is  it  best  for  you? 
That  is  what  I  ask  myself.    You  have  not  looked  well 


146  THE    CHINK   IN   THE   ARMOUR 

lately,  Sylvia.  You  have  looked  very  sad  sometimes. 
Oh,  do  not  be  afraid,  you  are  quite  as  pretty  as  ever  you 
were!" 

The  tears  were  running  down  Sylvia's  face.  She  felt 
that  she  ought  to  be  very  angry  with  her  friend  for 
speaking  thus  plainly  to  her,  and  yet  she  could  not  be 
angry.     Anna  spoke  so  tenderly,  so  kindly,  so  delicately. 

"Shall  we  go  away  from  Lacville?"  asked  INIadame 
Wolsky,  suddenly.  "There  are  a  hundred  places  where 
you  and  I  could  go  together.  Let  us  leave  Lacville!  I 
am  sure  you  feel  just  as  I  do — I  am  sure  you  realise  that 
the  Comte  de  Virieu  would  never  make  you  happy." 

Sylvia  shook  her  head. 

"I  do  not  want  to  go  away,"  she  whispered. 

And  then  Madame  Wolsky  uttered  a  short  exclamation. 

"Ah!"  she  cried,  "I  understand.  He  is  the  friend 
you  are  to  meet  to-morrow — that  is  why  you  are  going 
into  Paris!" 

Sylvia  remained  silent. 

"I  understand  it  all  now,"  went  on  Anna.  "That  is 
the  reason  why  he  was  not  there  to-night.  He  has  gone 
into  Paris  so  as  not  to  compromise  you  at  Lacville.  That 
is  the  sort  of  gallantry  that  means  so  little!  As  if  Lac- 
ville matters — but  tell  me  this,  Sylvia?  Has  he  ever 
spoken  to  you  as  if  he  desired  to  introduce  his  family  to 
you?  That  is  the  test,  remember — that  is  the  test  of  a 
Frenchman's  regard  for  a  woman." 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  "The  carriage  for 
Madame  has  arrived." 

They  went  downstairs,  Sylvia  having  left  her  friend's 
last  question  unanswered. 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  147 

Madame  Wolsky,  though  generally  so  undemonstra- 
tive, took  Sylvia  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her. 

"God  bless  you,  my  dear  little  friend!"  she  whispered, 
"and  forgive  all  I  have  said  to  you  to-night!  Still, 
think  the  matter  over.  I  have  lived  a  great  deal  of  my 
life  in  this  country.  I  am  almost  a  Frenchwoman.  It 
is  no  use  marrying  a  Frenchman  unless  his  family  marry 
you  too — and  I  understand  that  the  Comte  de  Virieu's 
family  have  cast  him  off." 

Sylvia  got  into  the  carriage  and  looked  back,  her  eyes 
blinded  with  tears. 

Anna  Wolsky  stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  Pension, 
her  tall,  thin  figure  in  sharp  silhouette  against  the  lighted 
hall. 

"We  will  meet  the  day  after  to-morrow,  is  that  not 
so?  "  she  cried  out. 

And  Sylvia  nodded.  As  she  drove  away,  she  told 
herself  that  whatever  happened  she  would  always  remain 
faithful  to  her  affection  for  Anna  Wolsky. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

The  next  morning  found  Paul  de  Virieu  walking  up 
and  down  platform  No.  9  of  the  Gare  du  Nord,  waiting 
for  ]Mrs.  Bailey's  train,  which  was  due  to  arrive  from 
Lacville  at  eleven  o'clock. 

Though  he  looked  as  if  he  hadn't  a  care  in  the  world 
save  the  pleasant  care  of  enjoying  the  present  and  look- 
ing forward  to  the  future,  life  was  very  grey  just  now  to 
the  young  Frenchman. 

To  a  Parisian,  Paris  in  hot  weather  is  a  depressing 
place,  even  under  the  pleasantest  of  circumstances,  and 
the  Count  felt  an  alien  and  an  outcast  in  the  city  where 
he  had  spent  much  of  his  careless  and  happy  youth. 

His  sister,  the  Duchesse  d'Eglemont,  who  had  jour- 
neyed all  the  way  from  Brittany  to  see  him  for  two  or 
three  days,  had  received  him  with  that  touch  of  painful 
affection  which  the  kindly  and  the  prosperous  so  often 
bestow  on  those  whom  they  feel  to  be  at  once  beloved  and 
prodigal. 

When  with  his  dear  Marie-Anne,  Paul  de  Virieu  always 
felt  as  though  he  had  been  condemned  to  be  guillotined, 
and  as  if  she  were  doing  everything  to  make  his  last  days 
on  earth  as  pleasant  as  possible. 

When  he  had  proposed  that  his  sister  should  ask  his 
new  friend,  this  English  widow  he  had  met  at  Lacville, 
to  luncheon — nay  more,  when  he  had  asked  !\Iarie-Anne 
to  lend  Mrs.  Bailey  a  riding  habit,  and  to  arrange  that  one 

148 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  149 

of  the  Due's  horses  should  come  over  every  morning  in 
order  that  he  and  Mrs.  Bailey  might  ride  together— the 
kind  Duchesse  had  at  once  assented,  almost  too  eagerly, 
to  his  requests.  And  she  had  asked  her  brother  no  tire- 
some, indiscreet  questions  as  to  his  relations  with  the 
young  Englishwoman, — whether,  for  instance,  he  was 
really  fond  of  Sylvia,  whether  it  was  conceivably  possible 
that  he  was  thinking  of  marrying  her? 

And,  truth  to  tell,  Paul  de  Virieu  would  have  found  it 
very  difficult  to  give  an  honest  answer  to  the  question. 
He  was  in  a  strange,  debatable  state  of  mind  about 
Sylvia — beautiful,  simple,  unsophisticated  Sylvia  Bailey. 

He  told  himself,  and  that  very  often,  that  the  young 
Englishwoman,  with  her  absurd,  touching  lack  of  worldly 
knowledge,  had  no  business  to  be  living  in  such  a  place 
as  Lacville,  wasting  her  money  at  the  Baccarat  tables, 
and  knowing  such  queer  people  as  were — well,  yes,  even 
Anna  Wolsky  was  queer — Madame  Wolsky  and  the 
Wachners ! 

But  if  Sylvia  Bailey  had  no  business  to  be  at  Lacville, 
he,  Paul  deTirieu,  had  no  business  to  be  flirting  with 
her  as  he  was  doing — for  though  Sylvia  was  honestly  un- 
aware of  the  fact,  the  Count  was  carrying  on  what  he 
well  knew  to  be  a  very  agreeable  flirtation  with  the  lady 
he  called  in  his  own  mind  his  "petite  amie  Anglaise,"  and 
very  much  he  was  enjoying  the  experience — when  his 
conscience  allowed  him  to  enjoy  it. 

Till  the  last  few  weeks  Paul  de  Virieu  had  supposed 
himself  to  have  come  to  that  time  of  life  when  a  man 
can  no  longer  feel  the  delicious  tremors  of  love.  Now 
no  man,  least  of  all  a  Frenchman,  likes  to  feel  that  this 


150        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

time  has  come,  and  it  was  inexpressibly  delightful  to 
him  to  know  that  he  had  been  mistaken — that  he  could 
still  enjoy  the  most  absorbing  and  enchanting  sensation 
vouchsafed  to  poor  humanity. 

He  was  in  love!  In  love  for  the  first  time  for  many 
years,  and  with  a  sweet,  happy-natured  woman,  who  be- 
came more  intimately  dear  to  him  every  moment  that 
went  by.  Indeed,  he  knew  that  the  real  reason  why  he 
had  felt  so  depressed  last  night  and  even  this  morning 
was  because  he  was  parted  from  Sylvia. 

But  where  was  it  all  to  end?  True,  he  had  told  Mrs. 
Bailey  the  truth  about  himself  very  early  in  their  acquaint- 
ance— in  fact,  amazingly  soon,  and  he  had  been  prompted 
to  do  so  by  a  feeling  which  defied  analysis. 

But  still,  did  Sylvia,  even  now,  realise  what  that  truth 
was?  Did  she  in  the  least  understand  what  it  meant 
for  a  man  to  be  bound  and  gagged,  as  he  was  bound  and 
gagged,  lashed  to  the  chariot  of  the  Goddess  of  Chance? 
No,  of  course  she  did  not  realise  it — how  could  such  a 
woman  as  was  Sylvia  Bailey  possibly  do  so? 

Walking  up  and  down  the  long  platform,  chewing 
the  cud  of  bitter  reflection,  Paul  de  Virieu  told  himself 
that  the  part  of  an  honest  man,  to  say  nothing  of  that 
of  an  honourable  gentleman,  would  be  to  leave  Lacville 
before  matters  had  gone  any  further  between  them. 
Yes,  that  was  what  he  was  bound  to  do  by  every  code 
of  honour. 

And  then,  just  as  he  had  taken  the  heroic  resolution 
of  going  back  to  Brittany  with  his  sister,  as  Marie-Anne 
had  begged  him  to  do  only  that  morning,  the  Lacville 
train  steamed  into  the  station — and  with  the  sight  of 


I 


THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  151 

Sylvia's  lovely  face  all  his  good  resolutions  flew  to  the 
winds. 

She  stepped  down  from  the  high  railway  carriage,  and 
looked  round  her  with  a  rather  bewildered  air,  for  a 
crowd  of  people  were  surging  round  her,  and  she  had 
not  yet  caught  sight  of  Count  Paul. 

Wearing  a  pinkish  mauve  cotton  gown  and  a  large 
black  tulle  hat,  Sylvia  looked  enchantingly  pretty. 
And  if  the  Count's  critical  French  eyes  objected  to  the 
alliance  of  a  cotton  gown  and  tulle  hat,  and  to  the  wear- 
ing of  a  string  of  large  pearls  in  the  morning,  he  was  in 
the  state  of  mind  when  a  man  of  fastidious  taste  forgives 
even  a  lack  of  taste  in  the  woman  to  whom  he  is  acting 
as  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend. 

He  told  himself  that  Sylvia  Bailey  could  not  be  left 
alone  in  a  place  like  Lacville,  and  that  it  was  his  positive 
duty  to  stay  on  there  and  look  after  her.     .     .     . 

Suddenly  their  eyes  met.  Sylvia  blushed— Heavens! 
how  adorable  she  looked  when  there  came  that  vivid 
rose-red  blush  over  her  rounded  cheeks.  And  she  was 
adorable  in  a  simple,  unsophisticated  way,  which  ap- 
pealed to  Paul  de  Virieu  as  nothing  in  woman  had  ever 
appealed  to  him  before. 

He  could  not  help  enjoying  the  thought  of  how  sur- 
prised his  sister  would  be.  Marie-Anne  had  doubtless 
pictured  Mrs.  Bailey  as  belonging  to  the  rather  hard, 
self-assertive  type  of  young  Englishwoman  of  whom 
Paris  sees  a  great  deal.  But  Sylvia  looked  girlishly 
simple,  timid,  and  confiding. 

As  he  greeted  her,  Paul  de  Virieu's  manner  was  serious, 
almost  solemn.  _  But  none  the  less,  while  they  walked 


152  THE   CHINK   IN   THE   ARMOUR 

side  by  side  in  a  quiet,  leisurely  fashion  through  the 
great  grey  station,  Syhia  felt  as  if  she  had  indeed  passed 
through  the  shining  portals  of  fairyland. 

In  the  covered  courtyard  stood  the  Duchesse's  car- 
riage. Count  Paul  motioned  the  footman  aside  and 
stood  bareheaded  while  Sylvia  took  her  place  in  the 
victoria.  As  he  sat  do\Mi  by  her  side  he  suddenly  ob- 
served, "My  brother-in-law  does  not  like  motor-cars," 
and  Sylvia  felt  secret,  shamefaced  gratitude  to  the  Due 
d'Eglemont,  for,  thanks  to  this  prejudice  of  his,  the 
moments  now  being  spent  by  her  alone  with  Count  Paul 
were  trebled. 

As  the  carriage  drove  with  swift,  gondola-like  motion 
through  the  hot  streets,  Sylvia  felt  more  than  ever  as 
if  she  were  in  a  new,  enchanted  country — that  dear 
country  called  Romance,  and,  as  if  to  prolong  the  illu- 
sion, the  Count  began  to  talk  what  seemed  to  her  the 
language  of  that  country. 

"Every  Frenchman,"  he  exclaimed,  abruptly,  "is  in 
love  with  love,  and  when  you  hear — as  you  may  do 
sometimes,  Madame — that  a  Frenchman  is  rarely  in  love 
with  his  own  wife,  pray  answer  that  this  is  quite  untrue! 
For  it  often  happens  that  in  his  wife  a  Frenchman  dis- 
covers the  love  he  has  sought  elsewhere  in  vain. " 

He  looked  straight  before  him  as  he  added:  "As  for 
marriage — well,  marriage  is  in  my  country  regarded  as 
a  very  serious  matter  indeed!  No  Frenchman  goes  into 
marriage  as  light-heartedly  as  does  the  average  English- 
man, and  as  have  done,  for  instance,  so  many  of  my  own 
English  schoolfellows.  No,  to  a  Frenchman  his  marriage 
means  everything  or  nothing,  and  if  he  loved  a  woman 


THE   CHINK   IX  THE   ARMOUR  153 

it  would  appear  to  him  a  dastardly  action  to  ask  her  to 
share  his  hfe  if  he  did  not  beheve  that  hfe  to  be  what 
would  be  hkely  to  satisfy  her,  to  bring  her  honour  and 
happiness." 

Sylvia  turned  to  him,  and,  rather  marvelling  at  her 
own  temerity,  she  asked  a  fateful  question: 

"But  would  love  ever  make  the  kind  of  Frenchman 
you  describe  give  up  a  way  of  life  that  was  likely  to 
make  his  wife  unhappy?" 

Count  Paul  looked  straight  into  the  blue  eyes  which 
told  him  so  much  more  than  their  owner  knew  they  told. 

"Yes!  He  might  easily  give  up  that  life  for  the  sake 
of  a  beloved  woman.  But  would  he  remain  always 
faithful  in  his  renunciation?  That  is  the  question  which 
none,  least  of  all  himself,  can  answer!" 

The  victoria  was  now  crossing  one  of  the  bridges  which 
are,  perhaps,  the  noblest  possession  of  outdoor  Paris. 

Count  Paul  changed  the  subject.  lie  had  seen  with 
mingled  pain  and  joy  how  much  his  last  honest  words 
had  troubled  her. 

"My  brother-in-law  has  never  cared  to  move  west,  as 
so  many  of  his  friends  have  done,"  he  obser\'ed.  "He 
prefers  to  remain  in  the  old  family  house  that  was  built 
by  his  great-grandfather  before  the  French  Revolution." 

Soon  they  were  bowling  along  a  quiet,  sunny  street, 
edged  with  high  walls  overhung  with  trees.  The  street 
bore  the  name  of  Babylon. 

And  indeed  there  was  something  almost  Babylonian, 
something  very  splendid  in  the  vast  courtyard  which 
formed  the  centre  of  what  appeared,  to  Sylvia's  fas- 
cinated eyes,  a  grey  stone  palace.    The  long  rows  of 


154  THE   CHINK   IN   THE   ARMOUR 

high,  narrow  windows  which  now  encompassed  her  were 
all  closed,  but  with  the  clatter  of  the  horses'  hoofs  on 
the  hujre  pavinj^'-stones  the  great  house  stirred  into  life. 

The  carriage  drew  up.  Count  Paul  jumped  out  and 
gave  Syhia  his  hand.  Huge  iron  doors,  that  looked  as 
if  they  could  shut  out  an  invading  army,  were  flung 
open,  and  after  a  moment's  pause,  Paul  de  Virieu  led 
Sylvia  Bailey  across  the  threshold  of  the  historic  Hotel 
d'Eglemont. 

She  had  never  seen,  she  had  never  imagined,  such 
pomp,  such  solemn  state,  as  that  which  greeted  her,  and 
there  came  across  her  a  childish  wish  that  Anna  Wo! sky 
and  the  Wachners  could  witness  the  scene — the  hall  hung 
with  tapestries  given  to  an  ancestor  of  the  Due  d'Egle- 
mont by  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  the  line  of  powdered 
footmen,  and  the  solemn  major-domo  who  ushered  them 
up  the  wide  staircase,  at  the  head  of  which  there  stood 
a  slender,  whitcM;lad  young  woman,  with  a  sweet,  eager 
face. 

This  was  the  first  time  Sylvia  Bailey  had  met  a  duchess, 
and  she  was  perhaps  a  little  surprised  to  see  how  very 
unpretentious  a  duchess  could  be! 

Marie-Anne  d'Eglemont  spoke  in  a  low,  almost  timid 
voice,  her  English  being  far  less  good  than  her  brother's, 
and  yet  how  truly  kind  and  highly-bred  she  at  once 
showed  herself,  putting  Sylvia  at  her  ease,  and  appearing 
to  think  there  was  nothing  at  all  unusual  in  Mrs.  Bailey's 
friendship  with  Paul  de  Virieu! 

And  then,  after  they  had  lunched  in  an  octagon  room 
of  which  each  panel  had  been  painted  by  Van  Loo,  and 
which  opened  on  a  garden  where  the  green  glades  and  high 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR  155 

trees  looked  as  if  they  must  be  far  from  a  great  city, 
there  suddenly  glided  in  a  tiny  old  lady,  dressed  in  a 
sweeping  black  gown  and  little  frilled  lace  cap. 

Count  Paul  bowing  low  before  her,  kissed  her  waxen- 
looking  right  hand. 

"My  dear  godmother,  let  me  present  to  you  Mrs. 
Bailey,"  and  Sylvia  felt  herself  being  closely,  rather  piti- 
lessly, inspected  by  shrewd  though  not  unkindly  eyes — 
eyes  sunken,  dimmed  by  age,  yet  seeing  more,  perhaps, 
than  younger  eyes  would  have  seen. 

The  old  Marquise  beckoned  to  Count  Paul,  and  to- 
gether they  slowly  walked  through  into  the  garden  and 
paced  away  down  a  shaded  alley.  For  the  first  time 
Sylvia  and  Marie-Anne  d'Eglemont  were  alone  together. 

"I  wish  to  thank  you  for  your  kindness  to  my  poor 
Paul,"  the  Duchesse  spoke  in  a  low,  hesitating  voice. 
"You  have  so  much  influence  over  him,  Madame." 

Sylvia  shook  her  head. 

"Ah!  But  yes,  you  have!"  She  looked  imploringly 
at  Sylvia.  "You  know  what  I  mean?  You  know  what 
I  would  ask  you  to  do?  My  husband  could  give  Paul 
work  in  the  country,  work  he  would  love,  for  he  adores 
horses,  if  only  he  could  be  rescued  from  this  terrible  in- 
fatuation, this  passion  for  play." 

She  stopped  abruptly,  for  the  Count  and  his  little, 
fairy-like  godmother  had  turned  round,  and  were  now 
coming  towards  them. 

Sjdvia  rose  instinctively  to  her  feet,  for  the  tiny  Mar- 
quise was  very  imposing. 

"Sit  down,  Madame,"  she  said  imperiously,  and 
Sylvia  meekly  obeyed. 


156  THE   CniXK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

The  old  lady  fixed  her  eyes  with  an  appraising  gaze 
on  her  godson's  English  friend. 

"  Permit  me  to  embrace  you,"  she  exclaimed  suddenly. 
''You  are  a  very  pretty  creature!  And  though  no  doubt 
young  lips  often  tell  you  this,  the  compliments  of  the 
old  have  the  merit  of  being  quite  sincere!" 

She  bent  do\sTi,  and  Sylvia,  to  her  confusion  and  sur- 
prise, felt  her  cheeks  lightly  kissed  by  the  withered  lips 
of  Paul  de  Virieu's  godmother. 

"Madame  Bailey's  rouge  is  natural;  it  does  not  come 
off  I"  the  old  lady  exclaimed,  and  a  smile  crept  over  her 
parchment-coloured  face.  "Not  but  what  a  great  deal 
of  nonsense  is  talked  about  the  usage  of  rouge,  my  dear 
children!  There  is  no  harm  in  supplementing  the  nig- 
gardly gifts  of  nature.  You,  for  instance,  Marie-Anne, 
would  look  all  the  better  for  a  little  rouge!"  She  spoke 
in  a  high,  quavering  voice. 

The  Duchesse  smiled.  Her  brother  had  always  been 
the  old  Marquise's  favourite. 

"But  I  should  feel  so  ashamed  if  it  came  off,"  she  said 
lightly;  "if,  for  instance,  I  felt  one  of  my  cheeks  grow- 
ing pale  while  the  other  remained  bright  red?" 

"That  would  never  happen  if  you  used  what  I  have 
often  told  you  is  the  only  rouge  a  lady  should  use,  that 
is,  the  sap  of  the  geranium  blossom — that  gives  an  abso- 
lutely natural  tint  to  the  skin,  and  my  own  dear  mother 
always  used  it.  You  remember  how  Louis  XVIII. 
complimented  her  on  her  beautiful  complexion  at  the 
first  Royal  ball  held  after  the  Restoration?  Well,  the 
Sovereign's  gracious  words  were  entirely  owing  to  the 
geranium  blossom!" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

The  day  after  her  memorable  expedition  to  Paris 
opened  pleasantly  for  Sylvia  Bailey,  though  it  was  odd 
how  dull  and  lifeless  the  Villa  du  Lac  seemed  to  be  with- 
out Count  Paul. 

But  he  would  be  back  to-morrow,  and  in  the  morning 
of  the  next  day  they  were  to  begin  riding  together. 

Again  and  again  she  went  over  in  retrospect  every 
moment  of  the  two  hours  she  had  spent  in  that  great 
house  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain. 

How  kind  these  two  ladies  had  been  to  her,  Paul's 
gentle  sister  and  his  stately  little  fairy-like  godmother! 
But  the  Duchesse's  manner  had  been  very  formal,  almost 
solemn;  and  as  for  the  other — Sylvia  could  still  feel  the 
dim,  yet  terribly  searching,  eyes  fixed  on  her  face,  and 
she  wondered  nervously  what  sort  of  effect  she  had  pro- 
duced on  the  old  Marquise. 

Meanwhile,  she  felt  that  now  was  the  time  to  see 
something  of  Anna  Wolsky.  The  long  afternoon  and 
evening  stretching  before  her  seemed  likely  to  be  very 
dull,  and  so  she  wrote  a  little  note  and  asked  Anna  if  she 
w^ould  care  for  a  long  expedition  in  the  Forest  of  Mont- 
morency. It  was  the  sort  of  thing  Anna  always  said 
bored  her,  but  as  she  was  not  going  to  the  Casino  a 
drive  would  surely  be  better  than  doing  nothing. 

And  now  Sylvia,  sitting  idly  by  her  bed-room  window, 
was  awaiting  Anna's  answer  to  her  note.     She  had  sent 

J  57 


15S        THE  CHINK  IN-  THE  ARMOUR 

it,  just  before  she  went  down  to  luncheon,  by  a  com- 
missionaire, to  the  Pension  Malfait,  and  the  answer 
ought  to  have  come  ere  now. 

After  their  drive  she  and  Anna  might  call  on  the 
Wachners  and  offer  to  take  them  to  the  Casino;  and 
\\-ith  the  thought  of  the  Wachners  there  came  over  Syl- 
via a  regret  that  the  Comte  de  Virieu  was  so  fastidious. 
He  seemed  to  detest  the  Wachners!  WTien  he  met  them 
at  the  Casino,  the  most  he  would  do  was  to  incline  his 
head  coldly  towards  them.  Who  could  wonder  that 
]\Iadame  Wachner  spoke  so  disagreeably  of  him? 

Sylvia  Bailey's  nature  was  very  loyal,  and  now  she 
reminded  herself  that  this  couple,  for  whom  Count  Paul 
seemed  to  have  an  instinctive  dislike,  were  good-natured 
and  kindly.  She  must  ever  remember  gratefully  how 
helpful  Madame  Wachner  had  been  during  the  first  few 
days  she  and  Anna  had  been  at  Lacville,  in  showing 
them  the  little  ways  about  the  place,  and  in  explaining 
to  them  all  sorts  of  things  about  the  Casino. 

And  how  kindly  the  Wachners  had  pressed  Anna 
yesterday  to  have  supper  with  them  during  Sylvia's 
absence  in  Paris! 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Sylvia  jumped 
up  from  her  chair.  No  doubt  this  was  Anna  herself  in 
response  to  the  note. 

"  Come  in,"  she  cried  out,  in  English. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  another  knock.  Then  it  was 
not  Anna? 

"Entrez!" 

The  commissionaire  by  whom  Sylvia  had  sent  her  note 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  159 

to  Madame  Wolsky  walked  into  the  room.  To  her 
great  surprise  he  handed  her  back  her  own  letter  to  her 
friend.  The  envelope  had  been  opened,  and  together 
with  her  letter  was  a  sheet  of  common  note-paper,  across 
which  was  scrawled,  in  pencil,  the  words,  "  Madame  Wol- 
sky est  partie." 

Sylvia  looked  up.  "  Pariief"  The  word  puzzled  her. 
Surely  it  should  have  been  "Sortie."  Perhaps  Anna  had 
gone  to  Paris  for  the  day  to  bank  her  large  winnings. 
"Then  the  lady  was  out?"  she  said  to  the  man. 

"The  lady  has  left  the  Pension  Malfait,"  he  said, 
briefly.     "She  has  gone  away." 

"There  must  be  some  mistake!"  Sylvia  exclaimed,  in 
French.  "My  friend  would  never  have  left  Lac  villa 
without  telling  me." 

The  commissionaire  went  on:  "But  I  have  brought 
back  a  motor-cab  as  Madame  directed  me  to  do." 

She  paid  him,  and  went  downstairs  hurriedly.  What 
an  extraordinary  mistake!  It  was  out  of  the  question 
that  Anna  should  have  left  Lacville  without  telling  her; 
but  as  the  motor  was  there  she  might  as  well  drive  to  the 
Pension  Malfait  and  find  out  the  meaning  of  the  curt 
message,  and  also  why  her  own  letter  to  Anna  had  been 
opened. 

If  Anna  had  gone  into  Paris  for  the  day,  the  only 
thing  to  do  was  to  go  for  a  drive  alone.  The  prospect 
was  not  exhilarating,  but  it  would  be  better  than  stay- 
ing indoors,  or  even  in  the  garden  by  herself,  all  afternoon. 

Sylvia  felt  rather  troubled  and  uncomfortable  as  she 
got  into  the  open  motor.  Somehow  she  had  counted  on 
seeing  Anna  to-day.    She  remembered  her  friend's  last 


160        THE  CniXK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

words  to  her.  They  had  been  kind,  tender  words,  and 
though  Anna  did  not  approve  of  Sylvia's  friendship  for 
Paul  de  Virieu,  she  had  spoken  in  a  very  understanding, 
sympathetic  way,  almost  as  a  loving  mother  might  have 
spoken. 

It  was  odd  of  Anna  not  to  have  left  word  she  was  go- 
ing to  Paris  for  the  day.  In  any  case,  the  Wachners 
would  know  when  Anna  would  be  back.     It  was  w^tli 

them  that  she  had  had  supper  yesterday  evening . 

\Miile  these  thoughts  were  passing  disconnectedly 
through  Sylvia's  mind,  she  suddenly  saw  the  substantial 
figure  of  Madame  Wachner  walking  slowly  along  the 
sanded  path  by  the  side  of  the  road. 

"Madame  Wachner!  Madame  Wachner!"  she  cried 
out  eagerly,  and  the  car  drew  up  with  a  jerk. 

That  citizeness  of  the  world,  as  she  had  called  herself, 
stepped  down  from  the  kerb.  She  looked  hot  and  tired. 
It  was  a  most  unusual  time  for  jNIadame  Wachner  to  be 
out  walking,  and  by  herself,  in  Lacville. 

But  Sylvia  was  thinking  too  much  about  Anna  Wolsky 
to  trouble  about  anything  else. 

"Have  you  heard  that  Anna  Wolsky  is  away  for  the 
day?"  she  exclaimed.  "I  have  received  such  a  mys- 
terious message  from  the  Pension  Malfait!  Do  come 
with  me  there  and  find  out  where  she  has  gone  and  when 
she  is  coming  back.  Did  she  say  anything  about  going 
into  Paris  when  she  had  supper  with  you  last  night?" 

With  a  smile  and  many  voluble  thanks  Madame  Wach- 
ner climbed  up  into  the  open  car,  and  sat  back  with  a  sigh 
of  satisfaction. 

She  was  very  stout,  though  still  so  vigorous,  and  her 


THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  161 

shrewd,  determined  face  now  turned  smilingly  to  the 
pretty,  anxious-eyed  Englishwoman.  But  she  waited  a 
few  moments  before  answering  Sylvia's  eager  questions. 
Then, 

"I  cannot  tell  you,"  she  said  slowly  and  in  French, 
"what  has  happened  to  Madame  Wolsky " 

"What  has  happened  to  her!"  cried  Sylvia.  "What 
do  you  mean,  Madame  Wachner?" 

"  Oh,  of  course,  nothing  'as  'appened."  Madame  Wach- 
ner dropped  soothingly  into  English.  "  All  I  mean  is  that 
Madame  Wolsky  did  not  come  to  us  yesterday  evening. 
We  stayed  in  on  purpose,  but,  as  English  people  say  so 
funnily,  she  never  turn  up!" 

"But  she  was  coming  to  tea  as  well  as  to  supper!" 

"Yes,  we  waited  for  'er  a  long  time,  and  I  'ad  got  such 
a  beautiful  little  supper!  But,  alas!  she  did  not  come — 
no,  not  at  all." 

"How  odd  of  her!  Perhaps  she  got  a  telegram  which 
contained  bad  news " 

"Yes,"  said  Madame  Wachner  eagerly,  "no  doubt. 
For  this  morning  when  I  go  to  the  Pension  Malfait,  I 
'ear  that  she  'as  gone  away !  It  was  for  that  I  was  'urry- 
ing  to  the  Villa  du  Lac  to  see  if  you  knew  anything,  dear 
friend." 

"Gone  away?"  repeated  Sylvia,  bewildered.  "But  it 
is  inconceivable  that  Anna  could  have  left  Lacville  with- 
out telling  me — or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  without  tell- 
ing you,  too " 

"She  'as  taken  what  you  in  England  call  'French 
leave,'"  said  Madame  Wachner  drily.  "It  was  not  very 
considerate  of  'er.     She  might  'ave  sent  us  word  last 


162        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

night.  We  would  not  then  'ave  waited  to  'ave  our  nice 
supper." 

"She  can't  have  gone  away  without  telling  me,"  re- 
peated Sylvia.  She  was  staring  straight  into  her  com- 
panion's red  face:  Madame  Wachner  still  looked  very 
hot  and  breathless.  "I  am  sure  she  would  never  have 
done  such  a  thing.     Why  should  she?  " 

The  older  woman  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"I  expect  she  will  come  back  soon,"  she  said  conso- 
lingly. "She 'as  left  her  luggage  at  the  Pension Malf ait, and 
that,  after  all,  does  not  look  as  if  she  'as  gone  for  evare!" 

"Left  her  luggage?"  cried  Sylvia,  in  a  relieved  tone. 
"\Miy,  then,  of  course,  she  is  coming  back!  I  expect 
she  has  gone  to  Paris  for  a  night  in  order  to  see  friends 
passing  through.  How  could  the  Pension  Malfait  people 
think  she  had  gone — I  mean  for  good?  You  know, 
^Madame  Wachner" — she  lowered  her  voice,  for  she  did 
not  wish  the  driver  to  hear  what  she  was  about  to  say — 
"you  know  that  Anna  won  a  very  large  sum  of  money 
two  nights  ago, " 

Sylvia  Bailey  was  aware  that  people  had  been  robbed 
and  roughly  handled,  even  in  idyllic  Lacville,  when  leav- 
ing the  Casino  after  an  especial  stroke  of  luck  at  the  ta- 
bles.    "  I  do  hope  nothing  has  happened  to  her ! " 

"'Appened  to  'er?  What  do  you  mean?"  Madame 
Wachner  spoke  quite  crossly.  "Who  ever  thought  of 
such  a  thing!"  And  she  fanned  herself  vigorously  with 
a  paper  fan  she  held  in  her  left  hand.  "  As  to  her  winnings 
— yes,  she  won  a  lot  of  money  the  night  she  took  the  bank. 
But,  remember  that  she  'as  'ad  plenty  of  time  yesterday 
to  lose  it  all  again — ah,  yes!" 


THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  163 

"But  she  meant  to  give  up  play  till  Monday,"  said 
Sylvia,  eagerly.  "I  feel  sure  she  never  went  inside  the 
Casino  yesterday." 

"Oh,  but  she  did.    My  'usband  saw  her  there." 

"At  what  time?"  asked  Sylvia,  eagerly. 

"Let  me  see " 

"  Of  course,  it  must  have  been  early,  as  you  were  back 
waiting  for  her  late  in  the  afternoon. " 

"Yes,  it  must  have  been  early.  And  once  in  the 
Casino! — well,  dear  friend,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that 
with  Madame  Wolsky  the  money  flies!  Still,  let  us  sup- 
pose she  did  not  lose  'er  money  yesterday.  In  that  case 
surely  Madame  Wolsky  would  'ave  done  well  to  leave 
Lacville  with  'er  gains  in  'er  pocket-book. " 

Madame  Wachner  was  leaning  back  in  the  car,  a  ru- 
minating smile  on  her  broad,  good-tempered  face. 

She  was  thoroughly  enjoying  the  rush  through  the  air. 
It  was  very  hot,  and  she  disliked  walking.  Her  morose 
husband  very  seldom  allowed  her  to  take  a  cab.  He 
generally  forced  her  to  walk  to  the  Casino  and  back. 

Something  of  a  philosopher  was  Madame  Wachner, 
always  accepting  with  eager,  out-stretched  hands  that 
with  which  the  gods  provided  her. 

And  all  at  once  pretty  Sylvia  Bailey,  though  unob- 
servant as  happy,  prosperous  youth  so  often  is,  conceived 
the  impression  that  her  companion  did  not  at  all  wish  to 
discuss  Anna's  sudden  departure.  Madame  Wachner 
had  evidently  been  very  much  annoyed  by  Anna's  lack  of 
civility,  and  surely  the  least  Anna  could  have  done  would 
have  been  to  send  a  message  saying  that  it  was  impossible 
for  her  to  come  to  supper  at  the  Chalet  des  Muguets ! 


164  THE  CHIXK   IX   THE   ARMOUR 

"  I  am  quite  sure  Anna  did  not  mean  to  be  rude,  dear 
Madame  Wachner,"  said  Sylvia,  earnestly.  ''You  know 
she  may  have  sent  you  a  letter  or  a  message  which  mis- 
carried. They  are  rather  careless  people  at  the  Pension 
Malfait." 

"  Yes,  of  course,  that  is  always  possible, "  said  the  other 
rather  coldly. 

And  then,  as  they  came  within  sight  of  the  Pension 
Malfait,  Madame  Wachner  suddenly  placed  her  large, 
powerful,  bare  hand  on  Sylvia's  small  gloved  one. 

"Look  'ere,  my  dear,"  she  said,  familiarly,  "do  not 
worry  about  ]\Iadame  Wolsky.  Believe  me,  she  is  not 
worth  it." 

Sylvia  looked  at  her  amazed,  and  then  Madame  Wach- 
ner broke  into  French:  "She  thought  of  nothing  but  play 
— that  is  the  truth!  Play,  play,  play!  Other  times  she 
was  half  asleep!" 

She  waited  a  moment,  then  slowly,  and  in  English,  she 
said,  "I  believe  in  my  'eart  that  she  'as  gone  off  to  Aix. 
The  play  'ere  was  not  big  enough  for  'er.  And  remember 
that  you  'ave  good  friends  still  left  in  Lacville.  I  do  not 
only  speak  of  me  and  of  my  'usband,  but  also  of  another 
one." 

She  laughed,  if  good-naturedly,  then  a  little  mah- 
ciously. 

But  Sylvia  gave  no  answering  smile.  She  told  herself 
that  Madame  Wachner,  though  kindly,  was  certainly 
rather  vulgar,  not  to  say  coarse.  And  her  words  about 
Madame  Wolsky  were  really  unkind.  Anna  was  not  such 
a  gambler  as  was  Fritz  Wachner. 
.  They  were  now  at  the  gate  of  the  boarding  house. 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  165 

"We  will,  at  any  rate,  go  in  and  find  out  when  Anna 
left,  and  if  she  said  where  she  was  going, "  said  Sylvia. 

"If  you  do  not  mind,"  observed  Madame  Wachner,  "I 
will  remain  out  here,  in  the  car.  They  have  already  seen 
me  this  morning  at  the  Pension  Malfait.  They  must  be 
quite  tired  of  seeing  me." 

Sylvia  felt  rather  disappointed.  She  would  have  liked 
the  support  of  INIadame  Wachner's  cheerful  presence 
when  making  her  inquiries,  for  she  was  aware  that  the 
proprietors  of  Anna's  pension — M.  and  Madame  Malfait 
— had  been  very  much  annoyed  that  she,  Sylvia,  had  not 
joined  her  friend  there. 

Madame  INIalfait  was  sitting  in  her  usual  place — that 
is,  in  a  little  glass  cage  in  the  hall — and  when  she  saw  Mrs. 
Bailey  coming  towards  her,  a  look  of  impatience,  almost 
of  dislike,  crossed  her  thin,  shrewd  face. 

"Bon  jour,  Madame!"  she  said  curtly.  "I  suppose 
you  also  have  come  to  ask  me  about  Madame  Wolsky? 
But  I  think  you  must  have  heard  all  there  is  to  hear  from 
the  lady  whom  I  see  out  there  in  the  car.  I  can  tell  you 
nothing  more  than  I  have  already  told  her.  IMadame 
Wolsky  has  treated  us  with  great  want  of  consideration. 
She  did  not  come  home  last  evening.  Poor  Malfait 
waited  up  all  night,  wondering  what  could  be  the  matter. 
And  then,  this  morning,  we  found  a  letter  in  her  room  say- 
ing she  had  gone  away!" 

"A  letter  in  her  room?"  exclaimed  Sylvia.  "Madame 
Wachner  did  not  tell  me  that  my  friend  had  left  a  let- 
ter  " 

But  Madame  Malfait  went  on  angrily: 

"Madame  Wolskv  need  not  have  troubled  to  write! 


166  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

A  word  of  explanation  would  have  been  better,  and  would 
have  prevented  my  husband  sitting  up  till  five  o'clock 
this  morning.  We  quite  feared  something  must  have  hap- 
pened to  her.  But  we  have  a  great  dislike  to  any  affair 
with  the  police,  and  so  we  thought  we  would  wait  before 
telling  them  of  her  disappearance,  and  it  is  indeed  fortu- 
nate that  we  did  so!" 

"Will  you  kindly  show  me  the  letter  she  left  for  you?'* 
said  Sylvia. 

Without  speaking,  Madame  Malfait  bent  down  over 
her  table,  and  then  held  out  a  piece  of  notepaper  on  which 
were  written  the  words: 

Madame  Malfait, — 

Being  unexpectedly  obliged  to  leave  Lacville,  I  enclose  herewith 
200  francs.  Please  pay  what  is  owing  to  you  out  of  it,  and  dis- 
tribute the  rest  among  the  servants.  I  will  send  you  word  where  to 
forward  my  luggage  in  a  day  or  two. 

Sylvia  stared  reflectively  at  the  open  letter. 

Anna  had  not  even  signed  her  name.  The  few  lines 
were  very  clear,  written  in  a  large,  decided  handwriting, 
considerably  larger,  or  so  it  seemed  to  Sylvia,  than  what 
she  had  thought  Anna's  ordinary  hand  to  be.  But  then 
the  Englishwoman  had  not  had  the  opportunity  of  seeing 
much  of  her  Polish  friend's  caligraphy. 

Before  she  had  quite  finished  reading  the  mysterious 
letter  over  a  second  time,  Madame  Malfait  took  it  out 
of  her  hand. 

But  Sylvia  Bailey  was  entirely  unused  to  being  snubbed 
— pretty  young  w-omen  provided  with  plenty  of  money 
seldom  are  snubbed — and  so  she  did  not  turn  away  and 
leave  the  hall,  as  Madame  Malfait  hoped  she  would  do. 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  167 

"What  a  strange  thing!"  she  observed,  in  a  troubled 
tone.  "How  extraordinary  it  is  that  my  friend  should 
have  gone  away  Hke  this,  leaving  her  luggage  behind  her! 
What  can  possibly  have  made  her  want  to  leave  Lacville 
in  such  a  hurry?  She  was  actually  engaged  to  have 
dinner  with  our  friends,  Monsieur  and  Madame  Wachner. 
Did  she  not  send  them  any  sort  of  message,  Madame 
Malfait?  I  wish  you  would  try  and  remember  what 
she  said  when  she  went  out." 

The  Frenchwoman  looked  at  her  with  a  curious  stare. 

"If  you  ask  me  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Madame," 
she  repUed,  rather  insolently,  "I  have  no  doubt  at  all 
that  your  friend  went  to  the  Casino  yesterday  and 
lost  a  great  deal  of  money — that  she  became,  in  fact, 
decav^e" 

Then,  feeling  ashamed,  both  of  her  rudeness  and  of 
her  frankness,  she  added : 

"But  Madame  Wolsky  is  a  very  honest  lady,  that  I 
will  say  for  her.  You  see,  she  left  enough  money  to  pay 
for  everything,  as  well  as  to  provide  my  servants  with 
handsome  gratuities.  That  is  more  than  the  last  person 
who  left  the  Pension  Malfait  in  a  hurry  troubled  to  do!" 

"But  is  it  not  extraordinary  that  she  left  her  luggage, 
and  that  she  did  not  even  tell  you  where  she  was  going?" 
repeated  Sylvia  in  a  worried,  dissatisfied  tone. 

"Pardon  me,  Madame,  that  is  not  strange  at  all! 
Madame  Wolsky  probably  went  off  to  Paris  without 
knowing  exactly  where  she  meant  to  stay,  and  no  one 
wants  to  take  luggage  with  them  when  they  are  looking 
round  for  an  hotel.  I  am  expecting  at  any  moment  to 
receive  a  telegram  telling  me  where  to  send  the  luggage. 


IGS  THE  CHINK   IN   THE   ARMOUR 

You,  ]\Iadame,  if  you  permit  me  to  say  so,  have  not  had 
my  experience — my  experience,  I  mean,  in  the  matter  of 
ladies  who  play  at  the  Lacville  Casino." 

There  was  still  a  tone  of  covert  insolence  in  her  voice, 
and  she  went  on,  "True,  ^Madame  Wolsky  has  not  be- 
haved as  badly  as  she  might  have  done.  Still,  you  must 
admit  that  it  is  rather  inconsiderate  of  her,  after  engag- 
ing the  room  for  the  whole  of  the  month  of  August,  to 
go  off  like  this!" 

Madame  Malfait  felt  thoroughly  incensed,  and  did  not 
trouble  to  conceal  the  fact.  But  as  Mrs.  Bailey  at  last 
began  walking  towards  the  front  door,  the  landlady  of 
the  pension  hurried  after  her. 

"Madame  will  not  say  too  much  about  her  friend's 
departure,  will  she?"  she  said  more  graciously.  "I  do 
not  want  any  embarrassments  with  the  police.  Every- 
thing is  quite  en  rbgle,  is  it  not?  After  all,  Madame 
Wolsky  had  a  right  to  go  away  without  telling  anyone 
of  her  plans,  had  she  not,  Madame?" 

Sylvia  turned  round.  "Certainly,  she  had  an  entire 
right  to  do  so,"  she  answered  coldly.  "But,  still,  I 
should  be  much  obliged  if  you  will  send  me  word  when 
you  receive  the  telegram  you  are  expecting  her  to  send 
you  about  the  luggage." 

"Well?"  cried  Madame  Wachner  eagerly,  as  Sylvia 
silently  got  into  the  motor  again.  "Have  you  learnt 
anything?     Have  they  not  had  news  of  our  friend?" 

"They  have  heard  nothing  since  they  found  that  odd 
letter  of  hers,"  said  Sylvia.  "You  never  told  me  about 
the  letter,  Madame  Wachner?" 


THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARIMOUR  169 

"Ah,  that  letter!  I  saw  it,  too.  But  it  said  nothing, 
absohitely  nothing!"  exclaimed  Madame  Wachner. 

And  Sylvia  suddenly  realised  that  in  truth  Anna's 
letter  did  say  nothing. 

"I  should  have  thought  they  would  have  had  a  tele- 
gram to-day  about  the  luggage." 

"So  would  I,"  said  Sylvia.  And  then  musingly,  "I 
should  never,  never  have  expected  Anna  Wolsky  to  go 
off  like  that.     So — so  mysteriously " 

"Well,  there,  I  quite  disagree  with  you!  It  is  just 
what  I  should  have  expected  her  to  do!"  exclaimed 
Madame  Wachner.  "She  told  me  of  that  visit  you  both 
made  to  the  soothsayer.  Perhaps  she  made  up  in  her 
mind  to  follow  that  person's  advice.  Our  friend  was  al- 
ways a  little  mysterious,  was  she  not?  Did  she  ever  talk 
to  you  of  her  family,  of  her  friends?"  She  looked  in- 
quisitively at  her  companion. 

"Yes — no,"  said  Sylvia,  hesitating.  "I  do  not  think 
poor  Anna  has  many  relations.  You  see,  she  is  a  widow. 
I  believe  her  father  and  mother  are  dead." 

"Ah,  that  is  very  sad!  Then  you  do  not  know  of 
anyone  to  write  to  about  her?  " 

"I?"  said  Sylvia.  "No,  of  course  I  don't  know  of 
anyone  to  write  to.  How  could  I?  I  haven't  known 
her  very  long,  you  know,  Madame  Wachner.  But  we 
became  friends  almost  at  once." 

The  motor  was  still  stationary.  The  driver  turned 
round  for  orders.     Sylvia  roused  herself. 

"Can  I  drive  you  back  to  the  Chalet  des  Muguets?" 
she  asked.  "Somehow  I  don't  feel  incUned  to  take  a 
drive  in  the  forest  now." 


170  THE   CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

"If  you  do  not  mind,"  said  Madame  Wachner,  "I 
should  prefer  to  be  driven  to  the  station,  for  I'Ami  Fritz 
had  to  go  to  Paris."  She  laughed  ruefully.  "To  fetch 
money,  as  usual!  His  system  did  not  work  at  all  well 
yesterday — poor  Fritz!" 

"How  horrid!"  said  Sylvia.  "It  must  be  very  dis- 
appointing to  your  husband  when  his  system  goes  wrong." 

"Yes,  very,"  answered  the  wife  drily.  "But  when  one 
system  fails — well,  then  he  at  once  sets  himself  to  invent- 
ing another!  I  lose  a  great  deal  more  in  the  lower  room 
playing  with  francs  than  Fritz  does  at  baccarat  playing 
with  gold.  You  see,  a  system  has  this  good  about  it — 
the  player  generally  comes  out  even  at  the  end  of  each 
month." 

"Does  he,  indeed?" 

But  Sylvia  was  not  attending  to  what  the  other  was 
saying.  She  was  still  absorbed  in  the  thought  of  her 
friend,  and  of  the  mystery  of  her  friend's  sudden  de- 
parture from  Lacville. 

When  at  last  they  reached  the  station,  Madame 
Wachner  turned  and  grasped  Sylvia  by  the  hand. 

"We  must  not  let  you  become  low-spirited!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "It  is  a  great  pity  your  kind  friend  has  gone 
away.     But  doubtless  you  will  soon  be  going  away,  too?  " 

And,  as  Sylvia  made  no  answer,  "Perhaps  it  would 
be  well  not  to  say  too  much  concerning  Madame  Wolsky 
having  left  like  this.  She  might  come  back  any  moment, 
and  then  she  would  not  like  it  if  there  had  been  a  fuss 
made  about  it !  If  I  were  you  I  would  tell  nobody — I  re- 
peat emphatically  nobody. '^ 

Madame    Wachner    stared    significantly    at    Sylvia. 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  171 

"You  do  not  know  what  the  poUce  of  Lacville  are  like, 
my  dear  friend.  They  are  very  unpleasant  people.  As 
you  were  Anna's  only  friend  in  the  place,  they  might 
give  you  considerable  trouble.  They  would  ask  you 
where  to  look  for  her,  and  they  would  torment  you  in- 
cessantly.    If  I  were  you  I  would  say  as  little  as  possible." 

Madame  Wachner  spoke  very  quickly,  almost  breath- 
lessly, and  Sylvia  felt  vaguely  uncomfortable.  There 
was,  of  course,  only  one  person  to  whom  she  was  likely 
to  mention  the  fact,  and  that  was  Paul  de  Virieu. 

Was  it  possible  that  Madame  Wachner  wished  to  warn 
her  against  telling  him  of  a  fact  which  he  was  sure  to 
discover  for  himself  in  the  course  of  a  day  or  two? 


CHAPTER   XV 

As  Sylvia  drove  away  alone  from  the  station,  she  felt 
exceedingly  troubled  and  unhappy. 

It  was  all  very  well  for  Madame  Wachner  to  take  the 
matter  of  Anna  Wolsky's  disappearance  from  Lacville  so 
philosophically.  The  Wachners'  acquaintance  with  Mad- 
ame Wolsky  had  been  really  very  slight,  and  they  natur- 
ally knew  nothing  of  the  Polish  woman's  inner  nature 
and  temperament. 

Sylvia  told  herself  that  Anna  must  have  been  in  great 
trouble,  and  that  something  very  serious  must  have 
happened  to  her,  before  she  could  have  gone  away  like 
this,  without  saying  anything  about  it. 

If  poor  Anna  had  changed  her  mind,  and  gone  to  the 
Casino  the  day  before,  she  might,  of  course,  have  lost  all 
her  winnings  and  more.  Sylvia  reminded  herself  that  it 
stood  to  reason  that  if  one  could  make  hundreds  of 
pounds  in  an  hour  or  two,  then  one  might  equally  lose 
hundreds  of  pounds  in  the  same  time.  But  somehow 
she  could  hardly  believe  that  her  friend  had  been  so 
foolish. 

Still,  how  else  to  account  for  Anna's  disappearance, 
her  sudden  exit  from  Lacville?  Anna  Wolsky  was  a 
proud  woman,  and  Sylvia  suspected  that  if  she  had 
come  unexpectedly  to  the  end  of  her  resources,  she 
would  have  preferred  to  go  away  rather  than  confide 
her  trouble  to  a  new  friend. 

172 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  173 

Tears  slowly  filled  Sylvia  Bailey's  blue  eyes.  She  felt 
deeply  hurt  by  Anna's  strange  conduct. 

Madame  Wachner's  warning  as  to  saying  as  little  as 
possible  of  the  other's  departure  from  Lacville  had  made 
very  little  impression  on  Sylvia,  yet  it  so  far  affected  her 
that,  instead  of  telling  Monsieur  Polperro  of  the  fact  the 
moment  she  was  back  at  the  Villa  du  Lac,  she  went 
straight  up  to  her  own  room.  But  when  there  she  found 
that  she  could  settle  down  to  nothing — neither  to  a  book 
nor  to  letters. 

Since  her  husband's  death  Sylvia  Bailey's  social  circle 
had  become  much  larger,  and  there  were  a  number  of 
people  who  enjoyed  inviting  and  meeting  the  pretty, 
wealthy  young  widow.  But  just  now  all  these  friends  of 
hers  in  far-away  England  seemed  quite  unreal  and,  above 
all,  quite  uninteresting. 

Sylvia  told  herself  with  bitter  pain,  and  again  the 
tears  sprang  to  her  eyes,  that  no  one  in  the  wide  world 
really  cared  for  her.  Those  people  who  had  been  going 
to  Switzerland  had  thrown  her  over  without  a  thought. 
Anna  Wolsky,  who  had  spoken  as  if  she  really  loved  her 
only  a  day  or  two  ago,  and  who  had  made  that  love  her 
excuse  for  a  somewhat  impertinent  interference  in  Sylvia's 
private  affairs,  had  left  Lacville  without  even  sending 
her  word  that  she  was  leaving ! 

True,  she  had  a  new  and  a  delightful  friend  in  Count 
Paul  de  Virieu.  But  what  if  Anna  had  been  right? 
What  if  Count  Paul  were  a  dangerous  friend,  or,  worse 
still,  only  amusing  himself  at  her  expense?  True,  he 
had  taken  her  to  see  his  sister;  but  that,  after  all,  might 
not  mean  very  much. 


174  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUTl 

Sylvia  Bailey  went  through  a  very  mournful  hour. 
She  felt  terribly  depressed  and  unhappy,  and  at  last, 
though  there  was  still  a  considerable  time  to  dinner,  she 
went  downstairs  and  out  into  the  garden  with  a  book. 

And  then,  in  a  moment,  everything  was  changed. 
From  sad,  she  became  happy;  from  mournful  and  self- 
pitying,  full  of  exquisite  content. 

Looking  up,  Sylvia  had  seen  the  now  familiar  figure 
of  Count  Paul  de  Virieu  hurrying  towards  her. 

How  early  he  had  left  Paris!  She  had  understood 
that  he  meant  to  come  back  by  the  last  train,  or  more 
probably  to-morrow  morning. 

"  Paris  was  so  hot,  and  my  sister  found  that  friends  of 
hers  were  passing  through,  so  I  came  back  earlier  than  I 
meant  to  do,"  he  said  a  little  lamely;  and  then,  "Is  any- 
thing the  matter?  " 

He  looked  with  quick,  anxious  concern  into  her  pale 
face  and  red-lidded  eyes.  "Did  you  have  a  bad  night 
at  the  tables?" 

Sylvia  shook  her  head. 

"Something  so  strange — so  unexpected — has  hap- 
pened." Her  mouth  quivered.  "Anna  Wolsky  has  left 
LacviUe!" 

"Left  LacviUe?"  Count  Paul  repeated,  in  almost  as 
incredulous  a  tone  as  that  in  which  Sylvia  herself  had 
said  the  words  when  the  news  had  been  first  brought  her. 
"Have  you  and  she  quarrelled,  Mrs.  Bailey?  You  per- 
mit?" He  waited  till  she  looked  up  and  said  listlessly, 
"Yes,  please  do,"  before  lighting  his  cigarette. 

"Quarrelled?  Oh,  no!  She  has  simply  gone  away 
without  telling  me!" 


THE  CHINK  IN   THE  ARMOUR  175 

The  Comte  de  Virieu  looked  surprised,  but  not  par- 
ticularly sorry. 

"That's  very  strange,"  he  said.  "I  should  have 
thought  your  friend  was  not  likely  to  leave  Lacville  for 
many  weeks  to  come." 

His  acute  French  mind  had  already  glanced  at  all  the 
sides  of  the  situation,  and  he  was  surprised  at  the  mixed 
feelings  which  filled  his  heart.  With  the  Polish  woman 
gone,  his  young  English  friend  was  not  likely  to  stay  on 
at  such  a  place  as  Lacville  alone. 

"But  where  has  Madame  Wolsky  gone?"  he  asked 
quickly.  "And  why  has  she  left?  Surely  she  is  coming 
back?"  (Sylvia  could  certainly  stay  on  a  few  days  alone 
at  Lacville,  if  her  friend  was  coming  back.) 

But  what  was  this  that  Mrs.  Bailey  was  saying  in  so 
plaintive  a  tone? 

"That's  the  extraordinary  thing  about  it!  I  haven't 
the  slightest  idea  where  Anna  is,  or  why  she  has  left 
Lacville."  In  spite  of  herself  her  voice  trembled.  "She 
did  not  give  me  the  slightest  warning  of  what  she  was 
thinking  of  doing;  in  fact,  only  a  few  days  ago,  when  we 
were  talking  of  our  future  plans,  I  tried  to  persuade  her 
to  come  back  to  England  with  me  on  a  long  visit." 

"Tell  me  all  that  happened,"  he  said,  sitting  down  and 
speaking  in  the  eager,  kindly  way  he  seemed  to  keep  for 
Sylvia  alone. 

And  then  Sylvia  told  him.  She  described  the  coming 
of  the  messenger,  her  journey  to  the  Pension  Malfait,  and 
she  repeated,  as  far  as  was  possible,  the  exact  words  of 
her  friend's  curiously-worded,  abrupt  letter  to  Madame 
Malfait. 


17G        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

"They  all  think,"  she  said  at  last,  "that  Anna  went  to 
the  Casino  and  lost  all  her  money — both  the  money  she 
made,  and  the  money  she  brought  here;  and  that  then, 
not  liking  to  tell  even  me  anything  about  it,  she  made  up 
her  mind  to  go  away." 

"They  all  think  this?"  repeated  Count  Paul,  mean- 
ingly.    "Whom  do  you  mean  by  all,  Mrs.  Bailey?" 

"I  mean  the  people  at  the  Pension  Malfait,  and  the 
Wachners " 

"Then  you  saw  the  Wachners  to-day?" 

"I  met  Madame  Wachner  as  I  was  going  to  the  Pen- 
sion Malfait,"  said  Sylvia,  "and  she  went  there  with  me. 
You  see,  the  Wachners  asked  Anna  to  have  supper  with 
them  yesterday,  and  they  waited  for  her  ever  so  long, 
but  she  never  came.  That  makes  it  clear  that  she  must 
have  left  Lac\'ille  some  time  in  the  early  afternoon.  I 
wish — I  cannot  help  wishing — that  I  had  not  gone  into 
Paris  yesterday,  Count  Paul." 

And  then  suddenly  she  realised  how  ungracious  her 
words  must  sound. 

"Xo,  no,"  she  cried,  impetuously.  "Of  course,  I  do 
not  mean  that!  I  had  a  very,  very  happy  time,  and 
your  sister  was  very  kind  and  sweet  to  me.  But  it 
makes  me  unhappy  to  think  that  Anna  may  have  been 
worried  and  anxious  about  money  with  me  away " 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then,  in  a  very  different  voice, 
Syhia  Bailey  asked  the  Comte  de  Virieu  a  question  that 
seemed  to  him  utterly  irrelevant. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  fortune-tellers?  "  she  asked  abruptly. 
"Are  you  superstitious?" 

"Like  everyone  else,  I  have  been  to  such  people,"  he 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  177 

answered  indifferently.  "  But  if  you  ask  my  true  opinion 
— well,  no;  I  am  quite  sceptical  I  There  may  be  some- 
thing in  what  these  dealers  in  hope  sometimes  say,  but 
more  often  there  is  nothing.  In  fact,  j'ou  must  remember 
that  a  witch  generally  tells  her  client  what  she  beUeves 
her  client  wishes  to  hear." 

"Madame  Wachner  is  inclined  to  thuik  that  Anna  left 
Lacville  because  of  something  which  a  fortune-teller  told 
her — indeed  told  both  of  us — before  we  came  here."  Mrs. 
Bailey  was  digging  the  point  of  her  parasol  in  the  grass. 

"Tiens!  TiensI"  he  exclaimed.  "That  is  an  odd  idea! 
Pray  tell  me  all  about  it.  Did  you  and  your  friend  con- 
sult a  fashionable  necromancer,  or  did  you  content  your- 
selves with  going  to  a  cheap  witch?" 

"To  quite  a  cheap  witch." 

Sylvia  laughed  happily;  she  was  beginning  to  feel 
really  better  now.  She  rather  wondered  that  she  had 
never  told  Count  Paul  about  that  strange  visit  to  the 
fortune-teller,  but  she  had  been  taught,  as  are  so  many 
Englishwomen  of  her  type,  to  regard  ever\i;hing  savour- 
ing of  superstition  as  not  only  silly  and  weak-minded, 
but  also  as  rather  discreditable. 

"The  woman  called  herself  Madame  Cagliostra,"  she 
went  on  gaily,  "and  she  only  charged  five  francs.  In 
the  end  we  did  pay  her  fifteen.  But  she  gave  us  plenty 
for  our  money,  I  assure  you — in  fact,  I  can't  remember 
half  the  things  she  said!" 

"And  to  you  was  prophesied ?"     Count  Paul  leant 

forward  and  looked  at  her  fixedly. 

Syhia  blushed. 

"Oh,  she  told  me  all  sorts  of  things!     As  you  say  they 


178        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

don't  really  know  an\i;hing;  they  only  guess.  One  of 
the  things  that  she  told  me  was  that  it  was  possible,  in 
fact,  quite  likely,  that  I  should  never  go  back  to  England 
— I  mean  at  all  I  And  that  if  I  did  so,  I  should  go  as  a 
stranger.     Wasn't  that  absurd?" 

"Quite  absurd,"  said  Count  Paul,  quietly.  "For  even 
if  you  married  again,  Madame;  if  you  married  a  French- 
man, for  instance,  you  would  still  wish  to  go  back  to 
your  own  country  sometimes — at  least,  I  suppose  so." 

"  Of  course  I  should."  And  once  more  Sylvia  reddened 
violently. 

But  this  time  Count  Paul  felt  no  pleasure  in  watching 
the  flood  of  carmine  staining  not  only  the  smooth,  rounded 
cheek,  but  the  white  forehead  and  neck  of  his  fair  English 
friend. 

Sylvia  went  on  speaking,  a  little  quickly. 

"She  said  almost  the  same  thing  to  Anna.  Wasn't 
that  odd?  I  mean  she  said  that  Anna  would  probably 
never  go  back  to  her  own  country.  But  what  was  really 
very  strange  was  that  she  did  not  seem  to  be  able  to  see 
mto  Anna's  future  at  all.  And  then — oh  well,  she  be- 
haved very  oddly.  After  we  had  gone  she  called  us 
back "     Sylvia  stopped  for  a  moment. 

"Well?"  said  Count  Paul  eagerly.  "What  happened 
then?" 

He  seldom  allowed  himself  the  pleasure  of  looking  into 
Sylvia's  blue  eyes.  Now  he  asked  for  nothing  better 
than  that  she  should  go  on  talking  while  he  went  on 
looking  at  her. 

"She  made  us  stand  side  by  side — you  must  understand. 
Count,  that  we  had  already  paid  her  and  gone  away— 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  179 

when  she  called  us  back.  She  stared  at  us  in  a  very  queer 
sort  of  way,  and  said  that  we  must  not  leave  Paris,  or  if 
we  did  leave  Paris,  we  must  not  leave  together.  She 
said  that  if  we  did  so  we  should  run  into  danger." 

"All  rather  vague,"  observed  the  Count.  "And,  from 
the  little  I  know  of  her,  I  should  fancy  Madame  Wolsky 
the  last  woman  in  the  world  to  be  really  influenced  by 
that  kind  of  thing." 

He  hardly  knew  what  he  was  saying.  His  only  wish 
was  that  Sylvia  would  go  on  talking  to  him  in  the  inti- 
mate, confiding  fashion  she  was  now  doing.  Heavens! 
How  wretched,  how  lonely  he  had  felt  in  Paris  after 
seeing  her  off  the  day  before ! 

"Oh,  but  at  the  time  Anna  was  very  much  impressed," 
said  Sylvia,  quickly.  "Far  more  than  I  was — I  know  it 
made  her  nervous  when  she  was  first  playing  at  the  tables. 
And  when  she  lost  so  much  money  the  first  week  we  were 
here  she  said  to  me,  'That  woman  was  right.  We  ought 
not  to  have  come  to  Lacville!'  But  afterwards,  when 
she  began  to  be  so  wonderfully  lucky,  she  forgot  all  about 
it,  or,  rather,  she  only  remembered  that  the  woman  had 
said  to  her  that  she  would  have  a  great  run  of  luck." 

"Then  the  woman  said  that,  too,"  remarked  Count 
Paul,  absently. 

(What  was  it  his  godmother  had  said?  "I  felicitate 
you  on  your  conquest,  naughty  Paul!"  and  he  had  felt 
angry,  even  disgusted,  with  the  old  lady's  cynical  com- 
pliment. She  had  added,  meaningly,  "Why  not  turn 
over  a  new  leaf?  Why  not  marry  this  pretty  creature? 
We  should  all  be  pleased  to  see  you  behave  like  a  reason- 
able human  being.") 


180  THE  CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

»     But  Sylvia  was  answering  hini. 

"Yes,  the  woman  said  that  Anna  would  be  very 
lucky." 

The  Comte  de  Virieu  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then 
^^-ithdrew  his  eyes  from  his  friend's  face. 

"I  presume  you  have  already  telephoned  to  the  hotel 
in  Paris  where  you  first  met  Madame  Wolsky?" 

"Why,  it  never  occurred  to  me  to  do  that!"  cried 
Sylvia. '  "\Vhat  a  good  idea!" 

"Wait,"  he  said.     "I  will  go  and  do  it  for  you." 

But  five  minutes  later  he  came  back,  shaking  his  head. 
"I  am  sorry  to  saj'^  the  people  at  the  Hotel  de  I'Horloge 
know  nothing  of  ]\Iadame  W^olsky.  They  have  had  no 
news  of  her  since  you  and  she  both  left  the  place.  I 
wonder  if  the  Wachners  know  more  of  her  disappearance 
than  they  have  told  you?" 

"\Miat  do  you  mean?"  asked  Sylvia,  very  much  sur- 
prised. 

"They're  such  odd  people,"  he  said,  in  a  dissatisfied 
voice.  "And  you  know  they  were  always  with  your 
friend.  WTien  you  were  not  there,  they  hardly  ever  left 
her  for  a  moment." 

"But  I  thought  I  had  told  you  how  distressed  they 
are  about  it?  How  they  waited  for  her  last  evening  and 
how  she  never  came?  Oh  no,  the  Wachners  know  noth- 
ing," declared  Sylvia  confidently. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

There  is  something  very  bewildering  and  distressing  in 
the  sudden  disappearance  or  even  the  absence  of  a  human 
being  to  whose  affectionate  and  constant  presence  one 
has  become  accustomed.  And  as  the  hours  went  by, 
and  no  letter  or  message  arrived  from  Anna  Wolsky, 
Sylvia  became  seriously  troubled,  and  spent  much  of  her 
time  walking  to  and  from  the  Pension  Malfait. 

Surely  Anna  could  not  have  left  Paris,  still  less  France, 
without  her  luggage?  All  sorts  of  dreadful  possibilities 
crowded  on  Sylvia's  mind;  Anna  Wolsky  might  have 
met  with  an  accident:  she  might  now  be  lying  unidenti- 
fied in  a  Paris  hospital.     .     .     . 

At  last  she  grew  so  uneasy  about  her  friend  that  she 
felt  she  must  do  something ! 

Mine  host  of  the  Villa  du  Lac  was  kind  and  sym- 
pathetic, but  even  he  could  suggest  no  way  of  finding 
out  where  Anna  had  gone. 

And  then  Sylvia  suddenly  bethought  herself  that  there 
was  one  thing  she  could  do  which  she  had  not  done :  she 
could  surely  go  to  the  police  of  Lacville  and  ask  them  to 
make  inquiries  in  Paris  as  to  whether  there  had  been  an 
accident  of  which  the  victim  in  any  way  recalled  Anna 
Wolsky. 

To  her  surprise,  M.  Polperro  shook  his  head  very 
decidedly. 

"Oh  no,  do  not  go  to  the  police!"  he  said  in  an  anxious 
tone.     "  No,  no,  I  do  not  advise  you  to  do  that !  Heaven 

181 


182  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUB 

knows  I  would  do  anj-thing  in  reason  to  help  you,  Mad- 
ame, to  find  your  friend.  But  I  beg  of  you  not  to  ask 
me  to  go  for  you  to  the  police!" 

Sylvia  was  very  much  puzzled.  Why  should  M.  Pol- 
perro  be  so  unwilling  to  seek  the  help  of  the  law  in  so 
simple  a  matter  as  this? 

"I  will  go  myself,"  she  said. 

And  just  then — they  were  standing  in  the  hall  together 
— the  Comte  de  Virieu  came  up. 

"WTiat  is  it  you  will  do  yourself,  Madame?"  he  asked, 
smiling. 

SyKaa  turned  to  him  eagerly. 

"I  feel  that  I  should  like  to  speak  to  the  police  about 
Anna  Wolsky,"  she  exclaimed.  "It  is  the  first  thing 
one  would  do  in  England  if  a  friend  suddenly  disappeared 
— in  fact,  the  police  are  always  looking  for  people  who 
have  gone  away  in  a  mysterious  manner.  You  see,  I 
can't  help  being  afraid,  Count  Paul" — she  lowered  her 
voice — "  that  Anna  has  met  with  some  dreadful  accident. 
She  hasn't  a  friend  in  Paris!  Suppose  she  is  lying  now 
in  some  hospital,  unable  to  make  herself  understood?  I 
only  wish  that  I  had  a  photograph  of  Anna  that  I  could 
take  to  them." 

"Well,  there  is  a  possibility  that  this  may  be  so.  But 
remember  it  is  even  more  probable  that  Madame  Wolsky 
is  quite  well,  and  that  she  will  be  annoyed  at  your  taking 
any  such  step  to  find  her." 

"Yes,"  said  Sylvia,  slowly.  "I  know  that  is  quite 
possible.  And  yet — and  yet  it  is  so  very  unlike  Anna 
not  to  send  me  a  word  of  explanation!  And  then,  you 
know  in  that  letter  she  left  in  her  room  at  the  Pension 


THE   CniNK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  183 

Malfait  she  positively  promised  to  send  a  telegram  about 
her  luggage.  Surely  it  is  very  strange  that  she  has  not 
done  that?" 

"Well,  if  you  really  wish  the  police  communicated 
with,"  said  the  Comte  de  Virieu,  "I  will  go  to  the  police- 
station  here,  with  pleasure." 

"Why  should  we  not  go  together?"  asked  Sylvia, 
hesitatingly. 

"By  all  means.  But  think  over  what  we  are  to  say 
when  we  get  there.  If  your  friend  had  not  left  the 
letter  behind  her,  then,  of  course  it  would  be  our  posi- 
tive duty  to  communicate  with  the  police.  But  I  cannot 
help  being  afraid "     He  stopped  abruptly. 

"Of  what  are  you  afraid?"  asked  Sylvia  eagerly. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  Madame  Wolsky  may  be  very  much 
offended  by  your  interference  in  the  matter." 

"Oh,  no!"  cried  Sylvia.  "Indeed,  in  that  you  are 
quite  mistaken!  I  know  Anna  would  never  be  offended 
by  anything  I  could  do.  She  was  very  fond  of  me,  and 
so  am  I  of  her.  But  in  any  case  I  am  willing  to  risk  it. 
You  see" — her  voice  broke,  quivered — "I  am  really  very 
unhappy  about  Anna " 

"When  would  you  like  to  go  to  the  Commissioner  of 
Police?  "  asked  the  Count. 

"Is  there  any  reason  why  we  should  not  go  now?" 

"No.  Let  us  go  at  once.  I  only  had  the  feeling  that 
you  might  hear  from  her  any  moment." 

Together  they  walked  up  into  the  little  town  of  Lac- 
ville.  To  each  any  expedition  in  which  the  other  took 
part  had  become  delightful.  They  were  together  now 
more  than  they  had  ever  been  before.    No,  Count  Paul 


1S4        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

could  not  be  sorry  that  Sylvia's  friend  had  left  Lacville. 
He  had  no  wish  for  her  return. 

At  last  they  came  to  a  rather  mean-looking  white 
house;  out  of  one  of  the  windows  hung  a  tricolour  flag, 
i     "Here  we  are!"  he  said  briefly. 

"It  doesn't  look  a  very  imposing  place,"  said  Sylvia 
smiling. 

But  all  the  same,  as  the  Count  rang  the  bell  Sylvia 
suddenly  felt  as  if  she  would  like  to  run  away!  After 
all,  what  should  she  say  to  the  Commissioner  of  Police? 
Would  he  think  her  interference  in  Anna's  affairs  strange 
and  uncalled  for?     But  she  kept  her  thoughts  to  herself. 

They  were  shown  into  a  room  where  a  tired-looking 
man  bent  over  a  large,  ink-stained  table  littered  over 
with  papers. 

"Monsieur?  Madame?"  he  glanced  up  inquiringly, 
and  gave  them  a  searching  look.  But  he  did 'not  rise 
from  the  table,  as  Sylvia  expected  him  to  do.  "What 
can  I  do  for  you?"  he  said.  "I  am  at  your  service,"  and 
again  he  stared  with  insistent  curiosity  at  the  couple 
before  him,  at  the  well-dressed  young  Englishwoman  and 
at  her  French  companion. 

The  Count  explained  at  some  length  why  they  had 
come. 

And  then  at  last  the  Commissioner  of  Police  got  up. 

"Madame  has  now  been  at  Lacville  three  weeks?" — 
and  he  quickly  made  a  note  of  the  fact  on  a  little  tablet 
he  held  in  his  hand.  "And  her  friend,  a  Polish  lady 
named  Wolsky,  has  left  Lacville  rather  suddenly?  Mad- 
ame has,  however,  received  a  letter  from  her  friend  ex- 
plaining that  she  had  to  leave  unexpectedly?" 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE   ARJIOUR  185 

"No,"  said  Sylvia,  quickly,  "the  letter  was  not  sent 
to  me;  it  was  left  by  my  friend  in  her  bed-room  at  the 
Pension  Malfait.  You  see,  the  strange  thing,  IMonsieur, 
is  that  Madame  Wolsky  left  all  her  luggage.  She  took 
absolutely  nothing  with  her,  excepting,  of  course,  her 
money.  And  as  yet  nothing  has  come  from  her,  although 
she  promised  to  telegraph  where  her  luggage  was  to  be 
sent  on  to  her!  I  come  to  you  because  I  am  afraid  that 
she  had  met  with  some  accident  in  the  Paris  streets,  and 
I  thought  you  would  be  able  to  telephone  for  us  to  the 
Paris  Police." 

She  looked  very  piteously  at  the  French  official,  and 
his  face  softened,  a  kindly  look  came  over  it. 

"Well,  Madame,"  he  said,  "I  will  certainly  do  every- 
thing I  can.  But  I  must  ask  you  to  provide  me  first 
with  a  few  more  particulars  about  your  friend." 

"I  will  tell  you  everything  I  know.  But  I  really  do 
not  know  very  much." 

"Her  age?"  said  the  Commissioner. 

"I  do  not  know  her  age,  but  I  suppose  she  is  about 
thirty." 

"The  place  of  her  birth?" 
■    Sylvia  shook  her  head. 

"What  is  her  permanent  address?  Surely  you  know 
with  whom  you  could  communicate  the  news  of  an  acci- 
dent having  happened  to  her?  " 

"I  am  afraid  I  don't  even  know  that."  Sylvia  began 
to  feel  rather  foolish.  But — but  was  it  so  strange  after 
all?  Who  among  the  people  she  was  now  living  with 
knew  anything  of  her  far-away  English  home?  If  any- 
thing happened  to  herself,  for  instance?    Even  Count 


ISG        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

Paul  would  not  know  to  whom  to  write.  It  was  an  odd, 
rather  an  uncomfortable  thought. 

The  Commissioner  went  to  a  drawer  and  pulled  out 
from  it  a  portfolio  filled  with  loose  pieces  of  paper. 

"Malfait?  Malfait?  Malfait?"  he  muttered  inter- 
rogatively to  himself.  And  at  last  he  found  what  he 
was  looking  for.  It  was  a  large  sheet,  on  which  was  in- 
scribed in  large  round  letters  "Pension  Malfait."  There 
were  many  close  lines  of  writing  under  the  words.  He 
looked  down  and  read  through  all  that  was  there. 

"The  Pension  Malfait  has  a  good  reputation!"  he  ex- 
claimed, in  a  relieved  tone.  "I  gather  from  what  you 
say,  Monsieur," — he  gave  a  quick,  shrewd  look  at  the 
Count — "that  Madame  and  her  friend  did  not  play  in  a 
serious  sense  at  the  Casino — I  mean,  there  was  no  large 
sum  of  money  in  question?" 

Count  Paul  hesitated — but  Sylvia  thought  that  surely 
it  were  better  to  tell  the  truth. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "my  friend  did  play,  and  she  played 
rather  high.  She  must  have  had  a  large  sum  of  money 
in  her  possession  when  she  left  Lacville,  unless  she  lost 
it  all  on  the  last  day.  But  I  was  in  Paris,  and  so  I  don't 
know  what  she  did." 

The  Commissioner  looked  grave. 

"Ah,  but  that  alters  the  case  very  much!"  he  said. 
"I  must  request  you  to  come  with  me  to  the  Pension 
Malfait.  We  had  better  pursue  our  inquiries  there.  If 
this  Madame  Wolsky  had  a  large  sum  of  money  in  notes 
and  gold,  it  becomes  very  important  that  we  should 
know  where  she  is." 

They  all  three  left  the  shabby  little  bouse  together. 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE  ARMOUR  187 

and  Sylvia  could  not  help  wondering  what  would  happen 
there  while  they  were  gone.  But  the  Commissioner 
solved  her  doubts  by  turning  the  key  in  the  door. 

The  Count  hailed  a  cab,  and  they  all  got  into  it.  Then 
followed  a  curious  little  drive.  The  Commissioner  made 
polite  conversation  with  Mrs.  Bailey.  He  spoke  of  the 
beauties  of  Lacville.  "And  Madame,"  he  said,  pleas- 
antly, "  is  staying  at  the  Villa  du  Lac?  It  is  a  charming 
house,  with  historic  associations." 

Sylvia  was  surprised.  She  remembered  clearly  that 
she  had  not  told  the  police  official  where  she  was  staying. 

When  they  reached  the  Pension  Malfait  they  were 
kept  waiting  a  few  moments,  but  at  last  M.  Malfait 
appeared  in  the  hall.  He  received  them  with  obsequious 
amiability. 

Still,  even  Sylvia  could  not  but  be  aware  that  he  was 
extremely  angry,  and  she  herself  felt  wretchedly  uncom- 
fortable. What  if  Anna  Wolsky  were  all  right  after 
all?  Would  she  not  blame  her  for  having  made  such 
a  fuss? 

"  Everji;hing  is  quite  en  regie,"  M.  Malfait  said  smoothly 
when  the  purport  of  their  presence  was  explained  to  him 
in  a  few  curt  words  by  the  Commissioner  of  Police. 

"  You  see,  Monsieur  le  Commissaire,  it  is  quite  simple. 
The  lady  left  us  a  letter  explaining  why  she  was  obliged 
to  go  away.  I  do  not  know  wh}^  INIadame" — he  turned 
to  Sylvia — "thought  it  necessary  to  go  to  you?  We  have 
been  perfectly  open  about  the  whole  matter.  We  are 
respectable  people,  and  have  absolutely  nothing  to  hide. 
Madame  Wolsky 's  boxes  are  there,  in  her  bed-room;  I 
might  have  let  the  room  twice  over  since  she  left,  but  no, 


188  THE  CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR 

I  prefer  to  wait,  hoping  that  the  lady — the  very  charming 
lady — will  come  back." 

"By  the  way,  where  is  the  letter  which  she  left?"  said 
the  Commissioner  in  a  business-like  voice.  "I  should 
like  to  see  that  letter." 

"\Miere  is  the  letter?"  repeated  Monsieur  Malfait 
vaguely.  Then  in  a  loud  voice,  he  said,  "I  will  ask  my 
wife  for  the  letter.     She  looks  after  the  correspondence." 

]\Iadame  Malfait  came  forward.  She  looked  even 
more  annoyed  than  her  husband  had  looked  when  he 
had  seen  by  whom  Sylvia  was  accompanied. 

"The  letter?"  she  repeated  shortly.  "Mon  Dieu!  I 
do  not  know  where  I  have  put  it.  But  by  this  time  I 
almost  know  it  by  heart.  It  was  a  pleasing  letter,  for  it 
spoke  very  warmly  of  our  establishment.  But  where  is 
the  letter?"  she  looked  round  her,  as  if  she  expected  to 
find  it  suddenly  appear. 

"Ah!  I  remember  to  whom  I  showed  it  last!  It  was 
to  that  agreeable  friend  of  Madame  Wolsky" — she  put 
an  emphasis  on  the  word  "agreeable,"  and  stared  hard 
at  Sylvia  as  she  did  so.  "  It  was  to  that  Madame  Wach- 
ner  I  last  showed  it.  Perhaps  she  put  it  in  her  pocket, 
and  forgot  to  give  it  me  back.  I  know  she  said  she  would 
like  her  husband  to  see  it.  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Wachner  often  take  their  meals  here.  I  will  ask  them  if 
they  have  the  letter." 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  we  had  better  open  Madame  Wol- 
sky's  trunks;  that  may  give  us  some  clue,"  said  the  Com- 
missioner in  a  weary  voice. 

And,  to  Sylvia's  confusion  and  distress,  they  all  then 
proceeded  to  the  bed-room  where  she  had  last  seen  her 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  189 

friend,  and  there  Monsieur  Malfait  broke  the  locks  of 
Anna  Wolsky's  two  large  trunks. 

But  the  contents  of  Anna's  trunks  taught  them  nothing. 
They  were  only  the  kind  of  objects  and  clothes  that  a 
woman  who  travelled  about  the  world  a  great  deal  would 
naturally  take  with  her.  Everything,  however,  was 
taken  out,  turned  over,  and  looked  at. 

"If  your  friend  possessed  a  passport,"  said  the  police 
official  in  a  dissatisfied  tone,  "she  has  evidently  taken 
it  with  her.  There  is  nothing  of  any  consequence  at  all 
in  those  boxes.  We  had  better  shut  them  up  again,  and 
leave  them." 

But  when  they  came  down  again  into  the  hall,  he  sud- 
denly asked  Monsieur  Malfait,  "Well,  where  is  the 
letter?"  He  had  evidently  forgotten  Madame  Malfait's 
involved  explanation. 

"I  will  send  you  the  letter  to-morrow,"  said  Monsieur 
Malfait  smoothly.  "The  truth  is,  we  handed  it  to  a 
lady  who  was  also  a  friend  of  Madame  Wolsky,  and  she 
evidently  forgot  to  give  it  back  to  us.  We  wdll  find  out 
whether  she  has  kept  it." 

On  the  way  back  the  Commissioner  of  Police  said  gaily, 

"It  is  quite  clear  that  Madame" — he  turned  and 
bowed  courteously  to  Sylvia — "knows  very  little  of 
Lacville,  Monsieur  le  Comte!  Why,  people  are  always 
disappearing  from  Lacville!  My  time  would  indeed  be 
full  were  I  to  follow  all  those  who  go  away  in  a  hurry — 
not  but  what  I  have  been  only  too  delighted  to  do  this 
for  Madame  and  for  IVIonsieur  le  Comte." 

He  then  bowed  to  the  Count  and  stared  smilingly  at 
Sylvia. 


190  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

"I  am  pleased  to  think,"  he  went  on  phayfully,  "that 
Madame  herself  is  not  Hkely  to  meet  with  any  unpleasant 
adventure  here,  for  the  Villa  du  Lac  is  a  most  excellent 
and  well-conducted  house.  Be  assured,  jNIadame,  that 
I  will  find  out  in  the  next  few  hours  if  your  friend  has  met 
with  an  accident  in  the  Paris  streets." 

He  left  them  at  the  gate  of  the  Villa. 
'     When  the  Commissioner  had  quite  disappeared,  the 
Count  observed,  "Well,  we  have  done  what  you  wished. 
But  it  has  not  had  much  result,  has  it?" 

Sylvia  shook  her  head  disconsolately. 

"No,  Count  Paul.  I  am  afraid  I  made  a  mistake  in 
going  to  the  police.  The  Mai  f aits  are  evidently  very 
angry  with  me !  And  yet — and  yet,  you  know  in  England 
it's  the  first  thing  that  people  do." 

Count  Paul  laughed  kindly. 

"It  is  a  matter  of  absolutely  no  consequence.  But 
you  see,  you  never  quite  understand,  my  dear  friend,  that 
Lacville  is  a  queer  place,  and  that  here,  at  any  rate,  the 
hotel-keepers  are  rather  afraid  of  the  police.  I  was  even 
glad  that  the  Commissioner  did  not  ask  to  look  over 
your  boxes,  and  did  not  exact  a  passport  from  you  I" 

More  seriously  he  added,  "But  I  see  that  you  are 
dreadfully  anxious  about  Madame  Wolsky,  and  I  myself 
will  communicate  with  the  Paris  police  about  the  matter. 
It  is,  as  you  say,  possible,  though  not  probable,  that  she 
met  with  an  accident  after  leaving  you." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  long  week  went  by,  and  still  no  news,  no  explanation 
of  her  abrupt  departure  from  Lacville,  was  received  from 
Anna  Wolsky;  and  tlie  owners  of  the  Pension  Malfait 
were  still  waiting  for  instructions  as  to  what  was  to  be 
done  with  Madame  Wolsky's  luggage,  and  with  the 
various  little  personal  possessions  she  had  left  scattered 
about  her  room. 

As  for  Sylvia,  it  sometimes  seemed  to  her  as  if  her 
PoHsh  friend  had  been  obliterated,  suddenly  blotted  out 
of  existence. 

But  as  time  went  on  she  felt  more  and  more  pained 
and  discomfited  by  Anna's  strange  and  heartless  be- 
haviour to  herself.  Whatever  the  reason  for  Madame 
Wolsky's  abrupt  departure,  it  would  not  have  taken  her 
a  moment  to  have  sent  Sylvia  Bailey  a  line — if  only  to 
say  that  she  could  give  no  explanation  of  her  extraor- 
dinary conduct. 

Fortunately  there  were  many  things  to  distract  Sylvia's 
thoughts  from  Anna  Wolsky.  She  now  began  each  morn- 
ing with  a  two  hours'  ride  with  Paul  de  Virieu.  She  had 
a  graceful  seat,  and  had  been  well  taught;  only  a  little 
practice,  so  the  Count  assured  her,  was  needed  to  make 
her  into  a  really  good  horsewoman,  the  more  so  that  she 
was  very  fearless. 

Leaving  the  flat  plain  of  Lacville  far  behind  them, 
they  would  make  their  way  into  the   Forest  of  Mont- 

191 


192  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

morency,  and  through  to  the  \\ide  valley,  which  is  so 
beautiful  and  so  Uttle  known  to  most  foreign  visitors 
to  Paris. 

•  The  Duchesse  d'Eglemont  had  sent  her  maid  to  Lac- 
ville  with  the  riding  habit  she  was  lending  Sylvia,  and 
by  a  word  M.  Polperro  let  fall,  the  EngUsh woman  realised, 
with  mingled  confusion  and  amusement,  that  the  hotel- 
keeper  supposed  her  to  be  an  old  and  intimate  friend  of 
Count  Paul's  sister. 

The  other  people  in  the  hotel  began  to  treat  her  with 
marked  cordiality. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  outwardly  the  PoUsh  lady's 
disappearance  came  to  be  regarded  even  by  Sylvia  as 
having  only  been  a  ripple  on  the  pleasant,  lazy,  agree- 
able life  she,  Count  Paul,  and  last,  not  least,  the  Wach- 
ners,  were  all  leading  at  Lacville. 

f  In  fact,  as  the  days  went  on,  only  Mrs.  Bailey  herself 
and  that  kindly  couple,  Madame  Wachner  and  her  silent 
husband,  seemed  to  remember  that  Anna  had  ever  been 
there.  During  the  first  days,  when  Sylvia  had  been 
really  very  anxious  and  troubled,  she  had  had  cause  to 
be  grateful  to  the  Wachners  for  their  sympathy;  for 
whereas  Paul  de  Virieu  seemed  only  interested  in  Anna 
Wolsky  because  she,  Sylvia,  herself  was  interested,  both 
Madame  Wachner  and  her  morose,  silent  husband 
showed  real  concern  and  distress  at  the  mysterious  lack 
of  news. 

"WTienever  Sylvia  saw  them,  and  she  saw  them  daily 
at  the  Casino,  either  Madame  Wachner  or  L'Ami  Fritz 
would  ask  her  in  an  eager,  sympathetic  voice,  "Have 
you  had  news  of  Madame  Wolsky?" 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUH  193 

And  then,  when  she  shook  her  head  sadly,  they  would 
express — and  especially  Madame  Wachner  would  ex- 
press— increasing  concern  and  surprise  at  Anna  s  ex- 
traordinary silence. 

"If  only  she  had  come  to  us  as  she  arranged  to  do!" 
the  older  woman  exclaimed  more  than  once  in  a  regret- 
ful tone.  "Then,  at  any  rate,  w^e  should  know  some- 
thing; she  would  not  have  concealed  her  plans  from  us 
entirely;  we  were,  if  new  friends,  yet  on  such  kind,  in- 
timate terms  with  the  dear  soul ! "  .  v'i.-'iA    j 

And  now,  as  had  been  the  case  exactly  a  week  ago, 
Sylvia  was  resting  in  her  room.  She  was  sitting  just  as 
she  had  then  sat,  in  a  chair  drawn  up  close  to  the  window. 
There  had  been  no  ride  that  morning,  for  Paul  de  Virieu 
had  been  obliged  to  go  into  Paris  for  the  day. 

Sylvia  felt  dull  and  listless.  She  had  never  before 
experienced  that  aching  longing  for  the  presence  of 
another  human  being  which  in  our  civilised  life  is  dis- 
guised under  many  names,  but  which  in  this  case,  Sylvia 
herself  called  by  that  of  "friendship." 

Moreover,  she  had  received  that  morning  a  letter 
which  had  greatly  disturbed  her.  It  now  lay  open  on 
her  lap,  for  she  had  just  read  it  through  again.  This 
letter  was  quite  short,  and  simply  contained  the  news 
that  Bill  Chester,  her  good  friend,  sometime  lover,  and 
trustee,  was  going  to  Switzerland  after  all,  and  that 
he  would  stop  a  couple  of  days  in  Paris  in  order  to 
see  her. 

It  was  really  very  nice  of  Bill  to  do  tliis,  and  a  month 
ago  Sylvia  would  have  looked  forward  to  seeing  him. 


19 1  THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR 

But  now  everjlhing  was  changed,  and  Sylvia  could  well 
have  dispensed  with  Bill  Chester's  presence. 

The  thought  of  Chester  at  Lacville  filled  her  with  un- 
ease. When  she  had  left  her  English  home  two  months 
ago — it  seemed  more  like  two  years  than  two  months — 
she  had  felt  well  disposed  to  the  young  lawyer,  and  deep 
in  her  inmost  heart  she  had  almost  brought  herself  to 
acknowledge  that  she  might  very  probably  in  time  be- 
come his  wife. 

She  suspected  that  Chester  had  been  fond  of  her  when 
she  was  a  girl,  at  a  time  when  his  means  would  not  have 
justified  him  in  proposing  to  her,  for  he  was  one  of  those 
unusual  men  who  think  it  dishonourable  to  ask  girls  to 
marry  them  imless  they  are  in  a  position  to  keep  a  wife. 
She  remembered  how  he  had  looked — how  set  and  stern 
his  face  had  become  when  someone  had  suddenly  told 
him  in  her  presence  of  her  engagement  to  George  Bailej', 
the  middle-aged  man  who  had  been  so  kind  to  her,  and 
yet  who  had  counted  for  so  little  in  her  life,  though  she 
had  given  him  all  she  could  of  love  and  duty. 

Since  her  widowhood,  so  she  now  reminded  herself  re- 
morsefully, Chester  had  been  extraordinarily  good  to  her, 
and  his  devotion  had  touched  her  because  it  was  expressed 
in  actions  rather  than  in  words,  for  he  was  also  the  un- 
usual tj-pe  of  man,  seldom  a  romantic  type,  who  scorns, 
however  much  in  love,  to  take  advantage  of  a  fiduciary 
position  to  strengthen  his  own. 

The  fact  that  he  was  her  trustee  brought  them  into 
frequent  conflict.  Too  often  Bill  was  the  candid  friend 
instead  of  the  devoted  lover.  Their  only  real  quarrel — 
if  quarrel  it  could  be  called — had  been,  as  we  know,  over 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  195 

the  purchase  of  her  string  of  pearls.  But  time,  or  so 
Sylvia  confidently  believed,  had  proved  her  to  have  been 
right,  for  her  "investment,"  as  she  always  called  it  to 
Bill  Chester,  had  improved  in  value. 

But  though  she  had  been  right  in  that  comparatively 
trifling  matter,  she  knew  that  Chester  would  certainly 
disapprove  of  the  kind  of  life — the  idle,  purposeless, 
frivolous  life — she  was  now  leading. 

Looking  out  over  the  lake,  which,  as  it  was  an  exceed- 
ingly hot,  fine  day,  was  already  crowded  with  boats, 
Sylvia  almost  made  up  her  mind  to  go  back  into  Paris 
for  two  or  three  days. 

Bill  would  think  it  a  very  strange  thing  that  she  was 
staying  here  in  Lacville  all  by  herself.  But  the  thought 
of  leaving  Lacville  just  now  was  very  disagreeable  to 
Sylvia.  .  .  .  She  wondered  uncomfortabl}'  what  her 
trustee  would  think  of  her  friendship  with  Count  Paul 
de  Virieu — with  this  Frenchman  who,  when  he  was  not 
gambling  at  the  Casino,  spent  every  moment  of  his  time 
with  her. 

But  deep  in  her  heart  Sylvia  knew  well  that  when  Bill 
Chester  was  there  Paul  de  Virieu  would  draw  back;  only 
when  they  were  really  alone  together  did  he  talk  eagerly, 
naturally. 

In  the  dining-room  of  the  Villa  he  hardly  ever  spoke 
to  her,  and  when  thej'^  were  both  in  the  Baccarat-room 
of  the  Club  he  seldom  came  and  stood  by  her  side,  though 
when  she  looked  up  she  often  found  his  eyes  fixed  on  her 
with  that  ardent,  absorbed  gaze  which  made  her  heart 
beat,  and  her  cheeks  flush  with  mingled  joy  and  pain. 

Suddenly,  as  if  her  thoughts  had  brought  him  there, 


196        THE  CHINK  IX  THE  ARMOUR 

she  saw  Count  Paul's  straight,  slim  figure  turn  in  from 
the  road  through  the  gates  of  the  Villa. 

He  glanced  up  at  her  window  and  took  off  his  hat. 
He  looked  cool,  unruffled,  and  self-possessed,  but  her 
eager  eyes  saw  a  change  in  his  face.  He  looked  very 
grave,  and  yet  oddly  happy.  Was  it  possible  that  he 
had  news  at  last  of  Anna  Wolsky? 

He  mounted  the  stone-steps  and  disappeared  into  the 
house;  and  Sylvia,  getting  up,  began  moving  restlessly 
about  her  room.  She  longed  to  go  downstairs,  and  yet 
a  feminine  feeling  of  delicacy  restrained  her  from  doing 
so. 

A  great  stillness  brooded  over  ever}i;hing.  The  heat 
had  sent  everyone  indoors.  M.  Polperro,  perhaps  be- 
cause of  his  Southern  up-bringing,  always  took  an  early 
afternoon  siesta.  It  looked  as  if  his  servants  followed 
his  example.     The  Villa  du  Lac  seemed  asleep. 

Sylvia  went  across  to  the  other  window,  the  window 
overlooking  the  large,  shady  garden,  and  there,  glancing 
down,  she  saw  Count  Paul. 

"Come  into  the  garden — ,"  he  said  softly  in  English; 
and  Sylvia,  leaning  over  the  bar  of  her  window,  thought 
he  added  the  word  "Maud" — but  of  course  that  could 
not  have  been  so,  for  her  name,  as  the  Count  knew  well, 
was  Sylvia!  And  equally  of  course  he  always  addressed 
her  as  "Madame." 

"It's  so  nice  and  cool  up  here,"  she  whispered  back. 
"I  don't  believe  it  is  half  so  cool  in  the  garden!" 

She  gazed  down  into  his  upturned  face  with  innocent 
coquetry,  pretending — only  pretending — to  hesitate  as  to 
what  she  would  do  in  answer  to  his  invitation. 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  197 

But  Sylvia  Bailey  was  but  an  amateur  at  the  Great 
Game,  the  game  at  which  only  two — only  a  man  and  a 
w^oman — can  play,  and  yet  which  is  capable  of  such  in- 
finite, such  bewilderingly  protean  variations.  So  her 
next  move,  one  which  Paul  de  Virieu,  smiling  behind 
his  moustache,  foresaw — was  to  turn  away  from  the 
window. 

She  ran  down  the  broad  shallow  staircase  very  quickly, 
for  it  had  occurred  to  her  that  the  Count,  taking  her  at 
her  word,  might  leave  the  garden,  and,  sauntering  off  to 
the  Casino,  lose  his  monej' — for  whatever  he  might  be  in 
love,  Count  Paul  was  exceedingly  unlucky  at  cards! 
And  lately  she  had  begun  to  think  that  she  was  gradually 
weaning  her  friend  from  what  she  knew  to  be  in  his  case, 
whatever  it  was  in  hers,  and  in  that  of  many  of  the  people 
about  them,  the  terrible  vice  of  gambling. 

When,  a  little  breathless,  she  joined  him  in  the  garden, 
she  found  that  he  had  already  taken  two  rocking-chairs 
into  a  shady  corner  which  was  out  of  sight  of  the  white 
villa  and  of  its  inquisitive  \\dndows. 

"Something  very  serious  has  happened,"  said  Count 
Paul  slowly. 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  his  and  looked  down  into 
her  face.  With  surprise  and  concern  she  saw  that  his 
eyelids  were  red.  Was  it  possible  that  Count  Paul  had 
been  crying?     He  almost  looked  as  if  he  had. 

The  idea  of  a  grown-up  man  allowing  himself  to  give 
way  to  emotion  of  that  sort  would  have  seemed  absurd 
to  Sylvia  a  short  time  ago,  but  somehow  the  thought 
that  Paul  de  Virieu  had  shed  tears  made  her  feel  ex- 
traordinarily moved. 


198  THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUK 

"\Miat  is  the  matter?"  she  asked  anxiously.  "Has 
anj-thing  happened  to  your  sister?" 

"Thank  God — no!"  he  answered  hastily.  "But  some- 
thing else,  something  which  was  to  be  expected,  but 
which  I  did  not  expect,  has  happened " 

And  then,  very  gravely,  and  at  last  releasing  her  hands, 
he  added,  "My  kind  godmother,  the  little  Marquise  you 
met  last  week,  died  last  night." 

Sylvia  felt  the  sudden  sense  of  surprise,  almost  of  dis- 
comfiture, the  young  always  feel  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  death. 

"How  dreadful!  She  seemed  quite  well  when  we  saw 
her  that  day " 

She  could  still  hear  echoing  in  her  ears  the  old  lady's 
half-mocking  but  kindly  compliments. 

"Ah!  but  she  was  very,  very  old — over  ninety!  WTiy, 
she  was  supposed  to  be  aged  when  she  became  my  god- 
mother thirty  odd  years  ago!" 

He  waited  a  moment,  and  then  added,  quietly,  "She 
has  left  me  in  her  will  two  hundred  thousand  francs." 

"Oh,  Ia?riglad!" 

Sylvia  stretched  out  both  hands  impulsively,  and  the 
Comte  de  Virieu  took  first  one  and  then  the  other  and 
raised  them  to  his  lips. 

"Eight  thousand  pounds?  Does  it  seem  a  fortune  to 
you,  Madame?" 

"Of  course  it  does!"  exclaimed  Sylvia. 

"It  frees  me  from  the  necessity  of  being  a  pensioner 
on  my  brother-in-law,"  he  said  slowly,  and  Sylvia  felt 
a  little  chill  of  disappointment.  Was  that  his  only 
pleasure  in  his  legacy? 


THE   CniNK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  199 

"You  will  not  play  with  this  money?"  she  said,  in  a 
low  voice. 

"It  is  no  use  my  making  a  promise,  especially  to  you, 
that  I  might  not  be  able  to  keep " 

He  got  up,  and  stood  looking  down  at  her. 

"  But  I  promise  that  I  will  not  waste  or  risk  this  money 
if  I  can  resist  the  temptation  to  do  so." 
-     Sylvia  smiled,  though  she  felt  more  inclined  to  cry. 

He  seemed  stung  by  her  look. 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  give  you  my  word  of  honour  that 
I  will  not  risk  any  of  this  money  at  the  tables?"  he  asked, 
almost  in  a  whisper. 

Sylvia's  heart  began  to  beat.  Count  Paul  had  become 
very  pale.  There  was  a  curious  expression  on  his  face — 
an  expression  of  revolt,  almost  of  anger. 

"Do  you  exact  it?"  he  repeated,  almost  violently. 

And  Sylvia  faltered  out,  "Could  you  keep  your  word 
if  I  did  exact  it?" 

"  Ah,  you  have  learnt  to  know  me  too  well ! " 

He  walked  away,  leaving  her  full  of  perplexity  and 
pain. 

A  few  moments  passed.  They  seemed  very  long 
moments  to  Sylvia  Bailey.  Then  Count  Paul  turned  and 
came  back. 

He  sat  down,  and  made  a  great  effort  to  behave  as  if 
nothing  unusual  or  memorable  had  passed  between  them. 

"And  has  anything  happened  here?"  he  asked.  "Is 
there  any  news  of  your  vanished  friend?" 

Sylvia  shook  her  head  gravely.  The  PoHsh  woman's 
odd,  and,  to  her,  inexplicable,  conduct  still  hurt  her  al- 
most as  much  as  it  had  done  at  first. 


200  THE   CHINK   IN   THE   AILAIOUR 

■  The  Count  leant  forward,  and  speaking  tliis  time  very 
seriously  indeed,  he  said,  in  a  low  voice: — 

"  I  wish  to  say  something  to  you,  and  I  am  now  going 
to  speak  as  frankly  as  if  you  were — my  sister.  You  are 
wrong  to  waste  a  moment  of  your  time  in  regretting 
Madame  Wolsky.  She  is  an  unhappy  woman,  held 
tightly  in  the  paws  of  the  tiger — Play.  That  is  the  truth, 
my  friend!  It  is  a  pity^you  ever  met  her,  and  I  am  glad 
she  went  away  without  doing  you  any  further  mischief. 
It  was  bad  enough  of  her  to  have  brought  you  to  Lac- 
ville,  and  taught  you  to  gamble.  Had  she  stayed  on, 
she  would  have  tried  in  time  to  make  you  go  on  with 
her  to  Monte  Carlo." 

He  shook  his  head  expressively 

Sylvia  looked  at  him  wuth  surprise.  He  had  never 
spoken  to  her  of  Anna  in  this  way  before.  She  hesitated, 
then  said  a  little  nervously, 

"Tell  me,  did  you  ask  ]\Iadame  Wolsky  to  go  away? 
Please  don't  mind  my  asking  you  this?" 

"7  ask  Madame  Wolsky  to  go  away?"  he  repeated, 
genuinely  surprised.  "  Such  a  thought  never  even  crossed 
my  mind.  It  would  have  been  very  impertinent — what 
English  people  would  call  'cheeky' — of  me  to  do  such  a 
thing!  You  must  indeed  think  me  a  hypocrite!  Have 
I  not  shared  your  surprise  and  concern  at  her  extraor- 
dinary disappearance?  And  her  luggage?  If  I  had 
wished  her  to  go  away,  I  should  not  have  encouraged  her 
to  leave  all  her  luggage  behind  her!"  he  spoke  with  the 
sarcastic  emphasis  of  which  the  French  are  masters. 

Sylvia  grew  very  red. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  had  been  Madame  Wachner 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  201 

who  had  suggested  that  idea  to  her.  Only  the  day  be- 
fore, when  Sylvia  had  been  wondering  for  the  thousandth 
time  where  Anna  could  be,  the  older  woman  had  ex- 
claimed meaningly,  "I  should  not  be  surprised  if  that 
Count  de  Virieu  persuaded  your  friend  to  go  away.  He 
wants  the  field  clear  for  himself." 

And  then  she  had  seemed  to  regret  her  imprudent 
words,  and  she  had  begged  Sylvia  not  to  give  the  Count 
p.ny  hint  of  her  suspicion.  Even  now  Sylvia  did  not 
mention  Madame  Wachner. 

"Of  course,  I  don't  think  you  a  hypocrite,"  she  said 
awkwardly,  "  but  you  never  did  like  poor  Anna,  and  you 
were  always  telling  me  that  Lacville  isn't  a  place  where 
a  nice  woman  ought  to  stay  long.  I  thought  you  might 
have  said  something  of  the  same  kind  to  Madame  Wol- 
sky." 

"And  do  you  really  suppose,"  Count  Paul  spoke  with 
a  touch  of  sharp  irony  in  his  voice,  "that  your  friend 
would  have  taken  my  advice?  Do  you  think  that  Mad- 
ame Wolsky  would  look  either  to  the  right  or  the  left 
when  the  Goddess  of  Chance  beckoned?" — and  he  waved 
his  hand  in  the  direction  where  the  white  Casino  lay. 

"But  the  Goddess  of  Chance  did  not  beckon  to  her 
to  leave  Lacville!"  Sylvia  exclaimed.  "Why,  she  meant 
to  stay  on  here  till  the  middle  of  September " 

"You  asked  me  a  very  indiscreet  question  just  now" 
— the  Count  leant  forward,  and  looked  straight  into  Mrs. 
Bailey's  eyes. 

His  manner  had  again  altered.  He  spoke  far  more 
authoritatively  than  he  had  ever  spoken  before,  and 
Sylvia,  far  from  resenting  this  new,  possessive  attitude, 


202        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

felt  thrilled  and  glad.  \Vhen  Bill  Chester  spoke  as  if 
he  had  authority  over  her,  it  always  made  her  indignant, 
even  angry. 

"Did  I?"  she  said  nervously. 

"Yes!  You  asked  me  if  I  had  persuaded  Madame 
Wolsky  to  leave  Lacville.  Well,  now  I  ask  you,  in  my 
turn,  whether  it  has  ever  occurred  to  you  that  the  Wach- 
ners  know  more  of  your  Polish  friend's  departure  than 
they  admit?  I  gathered  that  impression  the  only  time 
I  talked  to  your  Madame  Wachner  about  the  matter.  I 
felt  sure  she  knew  more  than  she  would  say!  Of  course, 
it  was  only  an  impression." 

Sylvia  hesitated. 

"At  first  Madame  Wachner  seemed  annoyed  that  I 
made  a  fuss  about  it,"  she  said  thoughtfully.  "But 
later  she  seemed  as  surprised  and  sorry  as  I  am  myself. 
Oh,  no,  Count,  I  am  sure  you  are  wrong — why  you 
forget  that  IMadame  Wachner  walked  up  to  the  Pension 
Malfait  that  same  evening — I  mean  the  evening  of  the 
day  Anna  left  Lacville.  In  fact,  it  was  Madame  Wach- 
ner who  first  found  out  that  Anna  had  not  come  home. 
She  went  up  to  her  bed-room  to  look  for  her." 

"Then  it  was  Madame  Wachner  who  found  the  letter?" 
observed  the  Count  interrogatively. 

"Oh,  no,  it  was  not  Madame  W^achner  who  found  it. 
Anna's  letter  was  discovered  the  next  morning  by  the 
chambermaid  in  a  blotting-book  on  the  writing  table. 
No  one  had  thought  of  looking  there.  You  see  they 
were  all  expecting  her  back  that  night.  Madame  Mal- 
fait still  thinks  that  poor  Anna  went  to  the  Casino  in  the 
afternoon,  and  after  having  lost  her  money  came  back  to 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  203 

the  pension,  wrote  the  letter,  and  then  went  out  and 
left  for  Paris  without  saying  anything  about  it  to  any- 
one!" 

"I  suppose  something  of  that  sort  did  happen,"  ob- 
served the  Corate  de  Virieu  thoughtfully. 

"And  now,"  he  said,  getting  up  from  his  chair,  "I 
think  I  will  take  a  turn  at  the  Casino  after  all!" 

Sylvia's  lip  quivered,  but  she  was  too  proud  to  appeal 
to  him  to  stay.     Still,  she  felt  horribly  hurt. 

"You  see  what  I  am  like,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  shamed 
voice.  "I  wish  you  had  made  me  give  you  my  word  of 
honour." 

She  got  up.  It  was  cruel,  very  cruel,  of  him  to  say 
that  to  her.  How  amazingly  their  relation  to  one 
another  had  altered  in  the  last  half-hour! 

For  the  moment  they  were  enemies,  and  it  was  the 
enemy  in  Sylvia  that  next  spoke.  "I  think  I  shall  go 
and  have  tea  with  the  Wachners.  They  never  go  to  the 
Casino  on  Saturday  afternoons." 

A  heavy  cloud  came  over  Count  Paul's  face. 

"I  can't  think  what  you  see  to  like  in  that  vulgar  old 
couple,"  he  exclaimed  irritably.  "To  me  there  is  some- 
thing"— he  hesitated,  seeking  for  an  English  word 
which  should  exactly  express  the  French  word  "louche" 
— "sinister — that  is  the  word  I  am  looking  for — there  is 
to  me  something  sinister  about  the  Wachners." 

"Sinister?"  echoed  Sylvia,  really  surprised.  "Why, 
they  seem  to  me  to  be  the  most  good-natured,  common- 
place people  in  the  world,  and  then  they're  so  fond  of 
one  another!" 

"I  grant  you  that,"  he  said.     "I  quite  agree  that  that 


204  THE   CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

Ugly  old  woman  is  very  fond  of  her  'Ami  Fritz' — but  I 
do  not  know  if  he  returns  the  compliment!" 

Sylvia  looked  pained,  nay  more,  shocked. 

"  I  suppose  French  husbands  only  like  their  wives  when 
they  are  young  and  pretty,"  she  said  slowly. 

"Another  of  the  many  injustices  you  are  always  heap- 
ing on  my  poor  country,"  the  Count  protested  lightly. 
"But  I  confess  I  deserved  it  this  time!  Joking  apart,  I 
think  'L'Ami  Fritz'  is  very  fond  of  his" — he  hesitated, 
then  ended  his  sentence  with  "Old  Dutch!" 

Sylvia  could  not  help  smiling. 

"It  is  too  bad  of  you,"  she  exclaimed,  "to  talk  like 
that!  The  Wachners  are  very  nice  people,  and  I  won't 
allow  you  to  say  anything  against  them!" 

Somehow  they  were  friends  again.  His  next  words 
proved  it. 

"I  will  not  say  anything  against  the  Wachners  this 
afternoon.  In  fact,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  do  so,  I  will 
escort  you  part  of  the  way." 

And  he  was  even  better  than  his  word,  for  he  went  on 
with  Sylvia  till  they  were  actually  within  sight  of  the 
little,  isolated  villa  where  the  Wachners  lived. 

There,  woman-like,  she  made  an  effort  to  persuade 
him  to  go  in  N\nth  her. 

"Do  come,"  she  said  urgently.  "Madame  Wachner 
would  be  so  pleased !  She  was  saying  the  other  day  that 
you  had  never  been  to  their  house." 

But  Count  Paul  smilingly  shook  his  head. 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  ever  going  there,"  he  said  de- 
liberately. "You  see  I  do  not  like  them!  I  suppose — I 
hope" — he  looked  again  straight  into  Sylvia  Bailey's  in- 


THE  CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  205 

genuous  blue  eyes — "that  the  Wachners  have  never 
tried  to  borrow  money  of  you?" 

"Never!"  she  cried,  blushing  violently.  "Never, 
Count  Paul !  Your  dislike  of  my  poor  friends  makes  you 
unjust — it  really  does." 

"It  does!  It  does!  I  beg  their  pardon  and  yours.  I 
was  foolish,  nay,  far  worse,  indiscreet,  to  ask  you  this 
question.     I  regret  I  did  so.     Accept  my  apology." 

She  looked  at  him  to  see  if  he  was  sincere.  His  face 
was  very  grave;  and  she  looked  at  him  with  perplexed, 
unhappy  eyes. 

"Oh,  don't  say  that!"  she  said.  "Why  should  you 
mind  saying  anything  to  me?  " 

But  the  Comte  de  Virieu  was  both  vexed  and  angry 
with  himself. 

"It  is  always  folly  to  interfere  in  anyone  else's  affairs," 
he  muttered.  "But  I  have  this  excuse — I  happen  to 
know  that  last  week,  or  rather  ten  days  ago,  the  Wach- 
ners were  in  considerable  difficulty  about  money.  Then 
suddenly  they  seemed  to  have  found  plenty,  in  fact,  to 
be  as  we  say  here,  'd  floV;  I  confess  that  I  foolishly 
imagined,  nay,  I  almost  hoped,  that  they  owed  this 
temporary  prosperity  to  you!  But  of  course  I  had  no 
business  to  think  about  it  at  all — still  less  any  business  to 
speak  to  you  about  the  matter.  Forgive  me,  I  will  not 
so  err  again." 

And  then,  with  one  of  his  sudden,  stiff  bows,  the 
Comte  de  Virieu  turned  on  his  heel,  leaving  Sylvia  to 
make  her  way  alone  to  the  little  wooden  gate  on  which 
were  painted  the  words  "Chalet  des  Muguets." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

Sylvia  pushed  open  the  httle  white  gate  of  the  Chalet 
des  Muguets  and  began  walking  up  the  path  which  lay 
through  the  neglected,  untidy  garden. 

To  eyes  accustomed  to  the  exquisitely-kept  gardens 
of  an  English  country  town,  there  was  something  almost 
offensive  in  the  sight  presented  by  the  high,  coarse  grass 
and  luxuriant  unkemptness  of  the  place,  and  once  more 
Sylvia  wondered  how  the  Wachners  could  bear  to  leave 
the  land  surrounding  their  temporary  home  in  such  a 
state. 

But  the  quaint,  fantastic-looking,  one-storeyed  chalet 
amused  and  rather  interested  her,  for  it  was  so  entirely 
unlike  any  other  dwelling  with  which  she  was  acquainted. 

To-day  a  deep,  hot  calm  brooded  over  the  silent  house 
and  deserted-looking  garden;  the  chocolate-coloured 
shutters  of  the  dining-room  and  the  drawing-room  were 
closed,  and  Sylvia  told  herself  that  it  would  be  delightful 
to  pass  from  the  steamy  heat  outside  into  the  dimly- 
lighted,  sparsely-furnished  little  "salon,"  there  to  have  a 
cup  of  tea  and  a  pleasant  chat  with  her  friends  before 
accompanying  them  in  the  cool  of  the  early  evening  to 
the  Casino. 

Sylvia  always  enjoyed  talking  to  Madame  Wachner. 
She  was  a  little  bit  ashamed  that  this  was  so,  for  this 
cosmopolitan  woman's  conversation  was  not  always  quite 
refined,  but  she  was  good-natured  and  lively,  and  her 

206 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  207 

talk  was  invariably  amusing.  Above  all,  she  knew  how 
to  flatter,  and  after  a  chat  with  Madame  Wachner  Sylvia 
Bailey  always  felt  pleased  both  with  herself  and  with  the 
world  about  her. 

There  was  very  little  concerning  the  young  English- 
woman's simple,  uneventful  life  with  which  Madame 
Wachner  was  not  by  now  acquainted.  She  was  aware 
for  instance,  that  Sylvia  had  no  close  relations  of  her 
own,  and  that,  like  Anna  Wolsky,  Mrs.  Bailey  knew  no- 
body— she  had  not  even  an  acquaintance — living  in  Paris. 

This  fact  had  enlisted  to  a  special  degree  Madame 
Wachner's  interest  and  liking  for  the  two  young  widows. 

Sylvia  rang  the  primitive  bell  which  hung  by  the  door 
which  alone  gave  access,  apart  from  the  windows,  to  the 
Chalet  des  Muguets. 

After  some  moments  the  day-servant  employed  by 
Madame  Wachner  opened  the  door  with  the  curt  words, 
"Monsieur  and  Madame  are  in  Paris."  The  woman 
added,  in  a  rather  insolent  tone,  "They  have  gone  to 
fetch  some  money,"  and  her  manner  said  plainly  enough, 
"Yes,  my  master  and  mistress — silly  fools — have  lost 
their  money  at  the  Casino,  and  now  they  are  gone  to  get 
fresh  supplies!" 

Sylvia  felt  vexed  and  disappointed.  After  what  had 
been  to  her  a  very  exciting,  agitating  conversation  with 
Count  Paul,  she  had  unconsciously  longed  for  the  cheer- 
ful, commonplace  talk  of  Madame  Wachner. 

As  she  stood  there  in  the  bright  sunlight  the  thought 
of  the  long,  lonely,  hot  walk  back  to  the  Villa  du  Lac 
became  odious  to  her. 

Why  should  she  not  go  into  the  house  and  rest  awhile? 


208        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

The  more  so  that  the  Waehners  would  ahnost  certainly 
return  home  very  soon.  They  disliked  Paris,  and  never 
stayed  more  than  a  couple  of  hours  on  their  occasional 
visits  there. 

In  her  careful,  rather  precise  French,  she  told  the 
servant  she  would  come  in  and  wait. 

"I  am  sure  that  oNIadame  Wachner  would  wish  me  to 
do  so,"  she  said,  smiling;  and  after  a  rather  ungracious 
pause  the  woman  admitted  her  into  the  house,  leading 
the  way  into  the  darkened  dining-room. 

"  Do  you  think  it  will  be  long  before  Madame  Wachner 
comes  back?"  asked  Sylvia. 

The  woman  hesitated — "I  cannot  tell  you  that,"  she 
mumbled.  "They  never  say  when  they  are  going,  or 
when  they  wWl  be  back.    They  are  very  odd  people!" 

She  bustled  out  of  the  room  for  a  few  moments  and 
then  came  back,  holding  a  big  cotton  parasol  in  her  hand. 

"  I  do  not  know  if  Madame  \\ashes  to  stay  on  here  by 
herself?  As  for  me,  I  must  go  now,  for  my  work  is  done. 
Perhaps  when  IMadame  leaves  the  house  she  will  put  the 
key  under  the  mat." 

"Yes,  if  I  leave  the  house  before  my  friends  return 
home  I  will  certainly  do  so.  But  I  expect  Madame 
Wachner  will  be  here  before  long." 

Sylvia  spoke  shortly.  She  did  not  like  the  day- 
servant's  independent,  almost  rude  way  of  speaking. 

"  Should  the  master  and  mistress  come  back  before 
Madame  has  left,  will  Madame  kindly  explain  that  she 
insinied  on  coming  into  the  house?  I  am  absolutely  for- 
bidden to  admit  visitors  unless  Madame  Wachner  is  here 
to  entertain  them." 


THE   CHINK   IN   THE   ARMOUR  209 

The  woman  spoke  quickly,  her  eyes  fixed  expectantly 
on  the  lady  sitting  before  her. 

Mrs.  Bailey  suddenly  realised,  or  thought  she  realised, 
what  that  look  meant.  She  took  her  purse  out  of  her 
pocket  and  held  out  a  two-franc  piece. 

"Certainly,"  she  answered  coldly,  "I  will  explain  to 
Madame  Wachner  that  I  insisted  on  coming  in  to  rest." 

The  woman's  manner  altered;  it  became  at  once 
familiar  and  servile.  After  profusely  thanking  Sylvia  for 
her  "tip,"  she  laid  the  cotton  parasol  on  the  dining-table, 
put  her  arms  akimbo,  and  suddenly  asked,  "  Has  Madame 
heard  any  news  of  her  friend?  I  mean  of  the  Polish 
lady?" 

"No,"  Sylvia  looked  up  surprised.  "I'm  sorry  to  say 
that  there  is  still  no  news  of  her,  but,  of  course,  there  will 
be  soon." 

She  was  astonished  that  the  Wachners  should  have 
mentioned  the  matter  to  this  disagreeable,  inquisitive 
person. 

"The  lady  stopped  here  on  her  way  to  the  station. 
She  seemed  in  very  high  spirits." 

"Oh,  no,  you  are  quite  mistaken,"  said  Sylvia  quickly. 
"Madame  Wolsky  did  not  come  here  at  all  the  day  she 
left  Lacville.  She  was  expected,  both  to  tea  and  to 
supper,  but  she  did  not  arrive " 

"Indeed,  yes,  Madame!  I  had  to  come  back  that 
afternoon,  for  I  had  forgotten  to  bring  in  some  sugar. 
The  lady  was  here  then,  and  she  was  still  here  when  I 
left  the  house." 

"I  assure  you  that  this  cannot  have  been  on  the  day 
my  friend  left  Lacville,"  said  Mrs.  Bailey  quickly.     "  Mad- 


210  THE    CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

ame  Wolsky  left  on  a  Saturday  afternoon.  As  I  told 
you  just  now,  Madame  Wachner  expected  her  to  supper, 
but  she  never  came.     She  went  to  Paris  instead." 

The  servant  looked  at  her  fixedly,  and  Sylvia's  face 
became  what  it  seldom  was — very  forbidding  in  expres- 
sion. She  wished  this  meddling,  familiar  woman  would 
go  away  and  leave  her  alone. 

"Xo  doubt  Madame  knows  best!  One  day  is  like 
another  to  me.     I  beg  Madame's  pardon." 

The  Frenchwoman  took  up  her  parasol  and  laid  the 
house  key  on  the  table,  then,  with  a  "  Bon  jour,  Madame, 
et  encore  merci  bien!"  she  noisily  closed  the  door  behind 
her. 

A  moment  later,  Sylvia,  with  a  sense  of  relief,  found 
herself  in  sole  possession  of  the  Chalet  des  Muguets. 

Even  the  quietest,  the  most  commonplace  house  has, 
as  it  were,  an  individuality  that  sets  it  apart  from  other 
houses.  And  even  those  who  would  deny  that  proposi- 
tion must  admit  that  every  inhabited  dwelling  has  its 
own  special  nationality. 

The  Chalet  des  IMuguets  was  typically  French  and 
typically  suburban;  but  where  it  differed  from  thousands 
of  houses  of  the  same  type,  dotted  round  in  the  country- 
sides within  easy  reach  of  Paris,  was  that  it  was  let  each 
year  to  a  different  set  of  tenants. 

In  Sylvia  Bailey's  eyes  the  queer  little  place  lacked  all 
the  elements  which  go  to  make  a  home;  and,  sitting  there, 
in  that  airless,  darkened  dining-room,  she  wondered,  not 
for  the  first  time,  why  the  Wachners  chose  to  live  in  such 
a  comfortless  way. 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  211 

She  glanced  round  her  with  distaste.  Everything  was 
not  only  cheap,  but  common  and  tawdry.  Still,  the 
dining-room,  like  all  the  other  rooms  in  the  chalet,  w^as 
singularly  clean,  and  almost  oppressively  neat. 

There  was  the  round  table  at  which  she  and  Anna 
Wolsky  had  been  so  kindly  entertained,  the  ugly  buffet 
or  sideboard,  and  in  place  of  the  dull  parquet  floor  she 
remembered  on  her  first  visit  lay  an  ugly  piece  of  lin- 
oleum, of  which  the  pattern  printed  on  the  surface 
simulated  a  red  and  blue  marble  pavement. 

Once  more  the  change  puzzled  her,  perhaps  unreason- 
ably. 

At  last  Sylvia  got  up  from  the  hard  cane  chair  on 
which  she  had  been  sitting. 

There  had  come  over  her,  in  the  half-darkness,  a  very 
peculiar  sensation — an  odd  feeling  that  there  was  some- 
thing alive  in  the  room.  She  looked  down,  half  expect- 
ing to  see  some  small  animal  crouching  under  the  table, 
or  hiding  by  the  walnut-wood  buffet  behind  her. 

But,  no;  nothing  but  the  round  table,  and  the  six 
chairs  stiffly  placed  against  the  wall,  met  her  eyes.  And 
yet,  still  that  feeling  that  there  was  in  the  room  some 
sentient  creature  besides  herself  persisted. 

She  opened  the  door  giving  into  the  hall,  and  walked 
through  the  short  passage  which  divided  the  house  into 
two  portions,  into  the  tiny  "salon." 

Here  also  the  closed  shutters  gave  the  room  a  curious, 
eerie  look  of  desolate  greyness.     But  Sylvia's  eyes,  al- 
ready accustomed  to  the  half-darkness  next  door,  saw 
everything  perfectly. 
^  The  little  sitting-room  looked  mean  and  shabby.    There 


212        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

was  not  a  flower,  not  even  a  book  or  a  paper,  to  relieve 
its  prim  ugliness.  The  only  ornaments  were  a  gilt  clock 
on  the  mantelpiece,  flanked  with  two  sham  Empire  can- 
delabra. The  shutters  were  fastened  closely,  and  the 
room  was  dreadfully  hot  and  airless. 

Once  more  Sylvia  wondered  why  the  Wachners  pre- 
ferred to  live  in  this  cheerless  way,  with  a  servant  who 
only  came  for  a  few  hours  each  day,  rather  than  at  an 
hotel  or  boarding-house. 

And  then  she  reminded  herself  that,  after  all,  the 
silent,  gaunt  man,  and  his  talkative,  voluble  wife,  seemed 
to  be  on  exceptionally  good  terms  the  one  with  the  other. 
Perhaps  they  really  preferred  being  alone  together  than 
in  a  more  peopled  atmosphere. 

While  moving  aimlessly  about  the  room,  Sylvia  began 
to  feel  unaccountably  nervous  and  oppressed.  She 
longed  to  be  away  from  this  still,  empty  house,  and  yet 
it  seemed  absurd  to  leave  just  as  the  Wachners  would 
be  returning  home. 

After  a  few  more  minutes,  however,  the  quietude,  and 
the  having  absolutely  nothing  to  do  with  which  to  wile 
away  the  time,  affected  Sylvia's  nerves. 

It  was,  after  all,  quite  possible  that  the  Wachners 
intended  to  wait  in  Paris  till  the  heat  of  the  day  was 
over.  In  that  case  they  would  not  be  back  till  seven 
o'clock. 

The  best  thing  she  could  do  would  be  to  leave  a  note 
inviting  Madame  Wachner  and  L'Ami  Fritz  to  dinner  at 
the  Villa  du  Lac.  Count  Paul  was  to  be  in  Paris  this 
evening,  so  his  eyes  would  not  be  offended  by  the  sight 
of  the  people  of  whom  he  so  disapproved.      Madame 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  213 

Wachner  would  probably  be  glad  to  dine  out,  the  more 
so  that  no  proper  meal  seemed  to  have  been  prepared  by 
that  unpleasant  day-servant.  Why,  the  woman  had  not 
even  laid  the  cloth  for  her  employers'  supper! 

Sylvia  looked  instinctively  round  for  paper  and  en- 
velopes, but  there  was  no  writing-table,  not  even  a 
pencil  and  paper,  in  the  little  drawing-room.  How  absurd 
and  anno^'ing! 

But,  stay — somewhere  in  the  house  there  must  be 
writing  materials. 

Treading  softly,  and  yet  hearing  her  footsteps  echoing 
wdth  unpleasant  loudness  through  the  empty  house, 
Sylvia  Bailey  walked  past  the  open  door  of  the  little 
kitchen,  and  so  to  the  end  of  the  passage. 

Then  something  extraordinary  happened. 

While  in  the  act  of  opening  the  door  of  Madame 
W^achner's  bed-room,  the  young  Englishwoman  stopped 
and  caught  her  breath.  Again  she  had  suddenly  experi- 
enced that  unpleasant,  eerie  sensation — the  sensation  that 
she  was  not  alone.  But  this  time  the  feeling  was  far  more 
vivid  than  it  had  been  in  the  dining-room. 

So  strong,  so  definite  was  Sylvia's  perception  of  another 
presence,  and  this  time  of  a  human  presence,  in  the  still 
house,  that  she  turned  sharply  round 

But  all  she  saw  was  the  empty  passage,  cut  by  a  shaft 
of  light  thrown  from  the  open  door  of  the  kitchen,  stretch- 
ing its  short  length  down  to  the  entrance  hall. 

Making  a  determined  effort  over  what  she  could  but 
suppose  to  be  her  nerves,  she  walked  through  into  the 
Wachners'  bed-room. 

It  was  very  bare  and  singularly  poorly  furnished,  at 


214  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

least  to  English  eyes,  but  it  was  pleasantly  cool  after  the 
drawing-room. 

She  walked  across  to  the  window,  and,  drawing  aside 
the  muslin  curtains,  looked  out. 

Beyond  the  patch  of  shade  thrown  by  the  house  the 
sun  beat  down  on  a  ragged,  unkempt  lawn,  but  across 
the  lawn  she  noticed,  much  more  particularly  than  she 
had  done  on  the  two  former  occasions  when  she  had  been 
in  the  house,  that  there  lay  a  thick  grove  of  chestnut 
trees  just  beyond  the  grounds  of  the  Chalet  des  Muguets. 

A  hedge  separated  the  lawn  from  the  wood,  but  like 
everything  else  in  the  little  property  it  had  been  neglected, 
and  there  were  large  gaps  in  it. 

She  turned  away  from  the  window 

Yes,  there,  at  last,  was  what  she  had  come  into  this 
room  to  seek!  Close  to  the  broad,  low  bed  was  a  writing- 
table,  or,  rather,  a  deal  table,  covered  with  a  turkey  red 
cloth,  on  which  lay  a  large  sheet  of  ink-stained,  white 
blotting-paper. 

Flanking  the  blotting-paper  was  a  pile  of  Monsieur 
Wachner's  little  red  books — the  books  in  which  he  so 
carefully  noted  the  turns  of  the  game  at  the  Casino,  and 
which  served  him  as  the  basis  of  his  elaborate  gambling 
"  systems." 

Sylvia  went  up  to  the  writing-table,  and,  bending  over 
it,  began  looking  for  some  note-paper.  But  there  was 
nothing  of  the  sort  to  be  seen;  neither  paper  nor  envelopes 
lay  on  the  table. 

This  was  the  more  absurd,  as  there  were  several  pens, 
and  an  inkpot  filled  to  the  brim. 

She  told  herself  that  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to  tear 


THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  215 

a  blank  leaf  out  of  one  of  L'Ami  Fritz's  note-books,  and 
on  it  write  her  message  of  invitation.  If  she  left  the 
little  sheet  of  paper  propped  up  on  the  dining-table,  the 
Wachners  would  be  sure  to  see  it. 

She  took  up  the  newest-looking  of  the  red  note-books, 
and  as  she  opened  it  she  suddenly  felt,  and  for  the  third 
time,  that  there  was  a  living  presence  close  to  her — and 
this  time  that  it  was  that  of  Anna  Wolsky! 

It  was  an  extraordinary  sensation — vivid,  uncanny, 
terrifying — the  more  so  that  Sylvia  Bailey  not  only  be- 
lieved herself  to  be  alone  in  the  house,  but  supposed  Anna 
to  be  far  from  Lacville.  .  .  . 

Fortunately,  this  unnerving  and  terrifying  impression 
of  an  unseen  and  yet  real  presence  did  not  endure;  and, 
as  she  focussed  her  eyes  on  the  open  book  she  held  in  her 
hand,  it  became  fainter  and  fainter,  while  she  realised, 
with  a  keen  sense  of  relief,  what  it  was  that  had  brought 
the  presence  of  her  absent  friend  so  very  near  to  her. 

There,  actually  lying  open  before  her,  between  two 
leaves  of  the  little  note-book,  was  a  letter  signed  by 
Anna  Wolsky!  It  was  a  short  note,  in  French,  appar- 
ently an  answer  to  one  Madame  Wachner  had  sent  re- 
minding her  of  her  engagement.  It  was  odd  that  the 
Wachners  had  said  nothing  of  this  note,  for  it  made 
Anna's  conduct  seem  stranger  than  ever. 

Opposite  the  page  on  which  lay  the  little  letter.  Mon- 
sieur Wachner  had  amused  himself  by  trying  to  imitate 
Anna's  angular  handwriting. 

Sylvia  tore  out  one  of  the  blank  pages,  and  then  she 
put  the  note-book  and  its  enclosure  back  on  the  table. 
She  felt  vaguely  touched  by  the  fact  that  the  Wachners 


216  THE   CHINK   IX   THE   ARilOUR 

had  kept  her  friend's  last  letter;  they  alone,  so  she  re- 
minded herself,  had  been  really  sorry  and  concerned  at 
Anna's  sudden  departure  from  the  place.  They  also, 
like  Sylvia  herself,  had  been  pained  that  Madame  Wol- 
sky  had  not  cared  to  say  good-bye  to  them. 

She  scribbled  a  few  lines  on  the  scrap  of  paper,  and 
then,  quicldy  making  her  way  to  the  dining-room,  she 
placed  her  unconventional  invitation  on  the  round  table, 
and  went  out  into  the  hall. 

As  she  opened  the  front  door  of  the  Chalet  des  Muguets 
Sylvia  was  met  by  a  blast  of  hot  air.  She  looked  out 
dubiously.  She  was  thoroughly  unnerved — as  she  ex- 
pressed it  to  herself,  "upset."  Feeling  as  she  now  felt, 
walking  back  through  the  heat  would  be  intolerable. 

For  the  first  time  Lacville  became  utterly  distasteful 
to  Sylvia  Bailey.  She  asked  herself,  with  a  kind  of  sur- 
prise, of  self-rebuke,  why  she  was  there — away  from  her 
own  country  and  her  own  people?  With  a  choking  sen- 
sation in  her  throat  she  told  herself  that  it  would  be  very 
comfortable  to  see  once  more  tlie  tall,  broad  figure  of 
Bill  Chester,  and  to  hear  his  good,  gruff  Enghsh  voice 
again. 

She  stepped  out  of  the  house,  and  put  up  her  white 
parasol. 

It  was  still  dreadfully  hot,  but  to  the  left,  across  the 
lawn,  lay  the  cool  depths  of  the  chestnut  wood.  Why 
not  go  over  there  and  rest  in  the  shade? 

Hurrying  across  the  scorched  grass  to  the  place  wherfe 
there  was  an  opening  in  the  rough  hedge,  she  found  her- 
self, a  moment  later,  plunged  in  the  grateful  green  twi- 
light created  by  high  trees. 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  217 

It  was  delightfully  quiet  and  still  in  the  wood,  and 
Sylvia  wondered  vaguely  why  the  Wachners  never  took 
their  tea  out  there.  But  foreigners  are  very  law-abiding, 
or  so  she  supposed,  and  the  wood,  if  a  piece  of  no-man's 
land,  was  for  sale.  Up  a  path  she  could  see  the  back  of 
a  large  board. 

It  was  clear  that  this  pretty  bit  of  woodland  would 
have  been  turned  into  villa  plots  long  ago  had  it  been 
nearer  to  a  road.  But  it  was  still  a  stretch  of  primeval 
forest.  Here  and  there,  amid  the  tufts  of  grass,  lay  the 
husks  of  last  autumn's  chestnuts. 

Sylvia  slowly  followed  the  little  zigzag  way  which  cut 
across  the  wood,  and  then,  desiring  to  sit  down  for  awhile, 
she  struck  off  to  the  right,  towards  a  spot  where  she  saw 
that  the  brambles  and  the  undergrowth  had  been  cleared 
away. 

Even  here,  where  in  summer  the  sun  never  penetrated, 
the  tufts  of  coarse  grass  were  dried  up  by  the  heat.  She 
glanced  down;  no,  there  was  no  fear  that  the  hard,  dry 
ground  would  stain  her  pretty  cotton  frock. 

And  then,  as  she  sat  there,  Sylvia  gradually  became 
aware  that  close  to  her,  where  the  undergrowth  began 
again,  the  earth  had  recently  been  disturbed.  Over  an 
irregular  patch  of  about  a  yard  square  the  sods  had  been 
dug  up,  and  then  planted  again. 

The  thought  passed  through  her  mind  that  children 
must  have  been  playing  there,  and  that  they  had  made 
a  rude  attempt  to  destroy  their  handiwork,  or  rather  to 
prevent  its  being  noticed,  by  placing  the  branch  of  a  tree 
across  the  little  plot  of  ground  where  the  earth  had  been 
disturbed.    It  was  this  broken  branch,  of  which  the 


218  THE  CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR 

leaves  had  shrivelled  up,  that  had  first  drawn  her  atten^ 
tion  to  the  fact  that  someone  must  have  been  there,  and 
recently. 

Her  thoughts  wandered  off  to  Bill  Chester.  He  was 
now  actually  journeying  towards  her  as  fast  as  boat  and 
train  could  bring  him;  in  a  couple  of  hours  he  would  be 
in  Paris,  and  then,  perhaps,  he  would  come  out  to  Lac- 
ville  in  time  for  dinner. 

Sylvia  had  not  been  able  to  get  a  room  for  him  in  the 
Villa  du  Lac,  but  she  had  engaged  one  in  the  Pension 
Malfait— where  she  had  been  able  to  secure  the  apart- 
ment which  had  been  occupied  by  Anna  Wolsky,  whose 
things  had  only  just  been  moved  out  of  it. 

She  could  not  help  being  sorry  that  Bill  would  see 
Lacville  for  the  first  time  on  a  Sunday.  She  feared  thatj 
to  his  English  eyes,  the  place,  especially  on  that  day, 
w^ould  present  a  peculiarly— well,  disreputable  appear 
ance! 

Sylvia  felt  jealous  for  the  good  fame  of  Lacville.  Out 
in  the  open  air  her  spirits  had  recovered  their  balance; 
she  told  herself  that  she  had  been  very  happy  here— 
singularly,  extraordinarily  happy.  .  .  . 

Of  course  it  was  a  pity  when  people  lost  more  money 
than  they  could  afford  at  the  Casino;  but  even  in  Eng- 
land people  betted— the  poor,  so  she  had  been  told, 
risked  all  their  spare  pence  on  horse  racing,  and  the 
others,  those  who  could  afford  it,  went  to  Monte  Carlo, 
or  stayed  at  home  and  played  bridge  1 

After  all,  where  was  the  difference?  But,  of  course, 
Bill  Chester,  with  his  tiresome,  old-fashioned  views  of 
life,  would  think  there  was  a  great  difference;  he  would 


THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  219 

certainly  disapprove  of  the  way  she  was  now  spending 
her  money.  .  .  . 

Something  told  her,  and  the  thought  was  not  wholly 
unpleasing  to  her,  that  Bill  Chester  and  the  Comte  de 
Virieu  would  not  get  on  well  together.  She  wondered  if 
Count  Paul  had  ever  been  jealous — if  he  were  capable  of 
Jealousy?  It  would  be  rather  interesting  to  see  if  any- 
thing or  anyone  could  make  him  so ! 

And  then  her  mind  travelled  on,  far,  far  away,  to  a 
picture  with  which  she  had  been  familiar  from  her  girl- 
hood, for  it  hung  in  the  drawing-room  of  one  of  her 
father's  friends  at  Market  Bailing.  It  was  called  "The 
Gambler's  Wife."  She  had  always  thought  it  a  very 
pretty  and  pathetic  picture;  but  she  no  longer  thought 
it  so;  in  fact,  it  now  appeared  to  her  to  be  a  ridiculous 
travesty  of  life.  Gamblers  were  just  like  other  people, 
neither  better  nor  worse — and  often  infinitely  more  lov- 
able than  were  some  other  people.  .  .  . 

At  last  Sylvia  got  up,  and  slowly  made  her  way  out  of 
the  wood.  She  did  not  go  back  through  the  Wachners' 
garden;  instead,  she  struck  off  to  the  left,  on  to  a  field 
path,  which  finally  brought  her  to  the  main  road. 

As  she  was  passing  the  Pension  Malfait  the  landlady 
came  out  to  the  gate. 

"Madame!"  she  cried  out  loudly,  "I  have  had  news 
of  Madame  Wolsky  at  last!  Early  this  afternoon  I  had 
a  telegram  from  her  asking  me  to  send  her  luggage  to 
the  cloak-room  of  the  Gare  du  Nord." 

Sylvia  felt  very  glad — glad,  and  yet  once  more,  per- 
haps unreasonably,  hurt.  Then  Anna  had  been  in  Paris 
all  the  time?    How  odd,  how  really  unkind  of  her  not 


220  THE    CHINK   IX   THE   ARMOUR 

to  have  written  and  relieved  the  anxiety  which  she  must 
have  knowai  her  English  friend  would  be  feeling  about 
her! 

"I  have  had  IMadame  Wolsky's  room  beautifully  pre- 
pared for  the  English  gentleman,"  went  on  Madame 
iSIalfait  amiably.  She  was  pleased  that  Mrs.  Bailey  was 
giving  her  a  new  guest,  and  it  also  amused  her  to  observe 
what  prudes  Englishwomen  could  be. 

Fancy  putting  a  man  who  had  come  all  the  way  from 
England  to  see  one,  in  a  pension  situated  at  the  other 
end  of  the  town  to  where  one  was  living  oneself! 


CHAPTER  XIX 

William  Chester,  solicitor,  and  respected  citizen  of 
Market  Bailing,  felt  rather  taken  aback  and  bewildered 
as  he  joined  the  great  stream  of  people  who  were  pouring 
out  of  the  large  suburban  station  of  Lacville. 

He  had  only  arrived  in  Paris  two  hours  before,  and 
after  a  hasty  dinner  at  the  Gare  du  Nord  he  had  made 
inquiries  as  to  his  best  way  of  reaching  Lacville.  And 
then  he  was  told,  to  his  surprise,  that  from  the  very 
station  in  which  he  found  himself  trains  started  every 
few  minutes  to  the  spot  for  which  he  was  bound. 

"To-night,"  added  the  man  of  whom  he  had  inquired, 
"there  is  a  fine  fete  at  Lacville,  including  fireworks  on 
the  lake!" 

Chester  had  imagined  Sylvia  to  be  staying  in  a  quiet 
village  or  little  country  town.  That  was  the  impression 
her  brief  letters  to  him  had  conveyed,  and  he  was  aston- 
ished to  hear  that  Lacville  maintained  so  large  and  con- 
stant a  train  service. 

Sylvia  had  written  that  she  would  engage  a  room  for 
him  at  the  boarding-house  where  she  was  staying;  and 
Chester,  who  was  very  tired  after  his  long,  hot  journey, 
looked  forward  to  a  pleasant  little  chat  with  her,  followed 
by  a  good  night's  rest. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  he  got  into  the  Lacville  train, 
and  again  he  was  vaguely  surprised  to  see  what  a  large 
number  of  people  were  bound  for  the  place.     It  was  clear 

221 


222  THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR 

that  something  special  must  be  going  on  there  to-night, 
and  that  "the  fireworks  on  the  lake"  must  be  on  a  very 
splendid  scale. 

When  he  arrived  at  Lacville,  he  joined  the  great  throng 
of  people,  who  were  laughing  and  talking,  each  and  all  in 
holiday  mood,  and  hailed  an  open  carriage  outside  the 
station.     "To  the  Villa  du  Lac!"  he  cried. 

The  cab  could  only  move  slowly  through  the  crowd  of 
walkers,  and  when  it  finally  emerged  out  of  the  narrow 
streets  of  the  town  it  stopped  a  moment,  as  if  the  driver 
wished  his  English  fare  to  gaze  at  the  beautiful  panorama 
spread  out  before  his  eyes. 

Dotted  over  the  lake,  large  and  mysterious  in  the  star- 
lit night,  floated  innumerable  tiny  crafts,  each  gaily  hung 
with  a  string  of  coloured  lanterns.  Now  and  again  a 
red  and  blue  rocket  streamed  up  with  a  hiss,  dissolving  in 
a  shower  of  stars  reflected  in  the  still  water. 

Down  to  the  right  a  huge  building,  with  towers  and 
minarets  flung  up  against  the  sky,  was  outlined  in  twink- 
ling lights. 

The  cab  moved  on,  only  for  a  few  yards  however,  and 
then  drove  quickly  through  high  gates,  and  stopped  with 
a  jerk  in  front  of  a  stone  staircase. 

"It  cannot  be  here,"  said  Chester  incredulously  to 
himself.  "  This  looks  more  like  a  fine  private  house  than 
a  small  country  hotel." 

"Villa  du  Lac?"  he  asked  interrogatively,  and  the  cab- 
man said,  "Out,  M*sieur." 

The  Englishman  got  out  of  the  cab,  and  ascending  the 
stone  steps,  rang  the  bell.  The  door  opened,  and  a  neat 
young  woman  stood  before  him. 


THE   CHINK   IX  THE   ARMOUR  223 

"I  am  come  to  see  Mrs.  Bailey,"  he  said  in  his  slow, 
hesitating  French. 

There  came  a  torrent  of  words,  of  smiles  and  nods — 
it  seemed  to  Chester  of  excuses — in  which  "Madame 
Bailey"  frequently  occurred. 

He  shook  his  head,  helplessly. 

"I  will  call  my  uncle!" 

The  maid  turned  away;  and  Chester,  with  an  agree- 
able feeling  of  relief  that  at  last  his  journey  was  ended, 
took  his  bag  off  the  cab,  and  dismissed  the  man. 

What  a  delightful,  spacious  house!  Sylvia  had  not 
been  so  very  foolish  after  all. 

M.  Polperro  came  forward,  bowing  and  smiling. 

"M'sieur  is  the  gentleman  Madame  Bailey  has  been 
expecting?"  he  said,  rubbing  his  hands.  "Oh,  how  sad 
she  will  be  that  she  has  already  gone  to  the  Casino !  But 
Madame  did  wait  for  M'sieur  till  half-past  nine;  then 
she  concluded  that  he  must  mean  to  spend  the  night  in 
Paris." 

"Do  you  mean  that  Mrs.  Bailey  has  gone  out?"  asked 
Chester,  surprised  and  disappointed. 

"Yes,  M'sieur.  Madame  has  gone  out,  as  she  always 
does  in  the  evening,  to  the  Casino.  It  is,  as  M'sieur 
doubtless  knows,  the  great  attraction  of  our  delightful 
and  salubrious  Lacville." 

Chester  had  not  much  sense  of  humour,  but  he  could 
not  help  smiling  to  himself  at  the  other's  pompous  words. 

"Perhaps  you  will  kindly  show  me  to  the  room  which 
Mrs.  Bailey  has  engaged  for  me,"  he  said,  "and  then  I 
will  go  out  and  try  and  find  her." 

M.  Polperro  burst  into  a  torrent  of  agitated  apologies. 


224  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

There  wai?  alas!  no  room  for  Madame  Bailey's  friend — 
in  fact  the  Villa  du  Lac  was  so  extraordinarily  prosperous 
that  there  never  was  a  room  there  from  ^Nlay  till  October, 
unless  one  of  the  guests  left  unexpectedly ! 

But  Mr.  Chester — was  not  that  his  name? — must  not 
be  cast  down,  for  Mrs.  Bailey  had  secured  a  beautiful 
room  for  him  in  another  pension,  a  very  inferior  pension 
to  the  Villa  du  Lac,  but  still  one  in  which  he  would  be 
comfortable. 

Chester  now  felt  annoyed,  and  showed  it.  The 
thought  of  turning  out  again  was  not  a  pleasant  one. 

But  what  was  this  funny  little  Frenchman  saying? 

"Oh,  if  M'sieur  had  only  arrived  an  hour  ago!  Mad- 
ame Bailey  was  so  terribly  disappointed  not  to  see  M'sieur 
at  dinner!  A  very  nice  special  dinner  was  prepared, 
cooked  by  myself,  in  honour  of  Madame  Bailey's  little 
party." 

And  he  went  on  to  tell  Chester,  who  was  getting  be- 
wildered with  the  quick,  eager  talk,  that  this  special 
dinner  had  been  served  at  eight  o'clock,  and  that  Mad- 
ame Bailey  had  entertained  two  friends  that  evening. 

"You  say  that  Mrs.  Bailey  is  at  the  Casino?" 

"Mais  oui,  M'sieur T' 

It  had  never  occurred  to  Chester  that  there  would  be 
a  Casino  in  the  place  where  Sylvia  was  spending  the 
summer.  But  then  everything  at  Lacville,  including  the 
Villa  du  Lac,  was  utterly  unlike  what  the  English  lawyer 
had  expected  it  to  be. 

M.  Polperro  spread  out  his  hands  with  an  eloquent 
gesture.  "I  beg  of  M'sieur,"  he  said,  "to  allow  me  to 
conduct  him  to  the  Casino!     Madame  Bailey  will  not  be 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  225 

here  for  some  time,  not  perhaps  for  one  hour,  perhaps 
for  two  hours.  I  will  have  the  luggage  sent  on  to  the 
Pension  Malfait." 

Strange — very  strange!  At  home  in  Market  Bailing 
Sylvia  had  always  been  fond  of  going  to  bed  quite  early; 
yet  now,  according  to  the  hotel-keeper,  she  was  perhaps 
going  to  stay  out  till  one  o'clock — till  one  o'clock  on 
Sunday  morning! 

M.  Polperro  led  Chester  into  the  stately,  long  drawing- 
room;  but  in  a  very  few  moments  he  reappeared,  having 
taken  off  his  white  apron  and  his  chef's  cap,  and  put  on 
a  light  grey  alpaca  coat  and  a  soft  hat. 

As  they  hurried  along  the  path  which  skirts  the  lake, 
Chester  began  to  feel  the  charm  of  the  place.  It  was 
very  gay  and  delightful — "very  French,"  so  the  English 
lawyer  told  himself.  The  lake,  too,  looked  beautiful — 
mysteriously  beautiful  and  fairy-like,  in  the  moonlight. 

Soon  they  turned  into  a  narrow  dark  lane. 

"This  is  not  a  grand  entrance  to  our  beautiful  Casino," 
said  M.  Polperro,  ruefully,  "but  no  matter,  it  is  lovely 
once  you  get  inside!"  and  he  chuckled  happily. 

When  in  front  of  the  great  glass  doors,  he  touched 
Chester  on  the  arm. 

"I  wonder  whether  M'sieur  would  care  to  become  a 
member  of  the  Club,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "I  do  not 
press  M'sieur  to  do  so!  But  you  see,  both  Madame 
Bailey  and  her  friends  are  members  of  the  Club,  and  it 
is  almost  certain  that  it  is  there  we  shall  find  them.  I 
fear  it  is  no  use  our  going  to  the  Playing  Rooms  down- 
stairs." 

The  Playing  Rooms?     Sylvia  a  member  of  a  club? 


226  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

And — for  Chester's  quick,  legal  mind  had  leapt  on  the 
fact — of  a  gambling  club? 

No,  that  was  incredible. 

"I  think  there  must  be  some  mistake,"  he  said  dis- 
tantly. "I  do  not  think  that  ]Mrs.  Bailey  is  a  member 
of  a  club." 

M.  Polperro  looked  very  much  surprised. 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed  she  is,"  he  answered  confidently.  "It 
is  only  the  quite  common  people  who  content  themselves, 
M'sieur,  with  risking  a  franc  and  playing  the  little  games. 
But  just  as  M'sieur  likes — "  he  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"I  do  not  press  M'sieur  to  become  a  member  of  the 
Club." 

Without  answering,  Chester  paid  the  couple  of  francs 
admission  for  himself  and  his  companion,  and  they 
walked  slowly  through  the  lower  rooms,  threading  their 
way  through  the  crowd. 

"You  see,  M'sieur,  I  was  right!  Madame  Bailey  is  in 
the  Club!" 

"Very  well.  Let  us  go  to  the  Club,"  said  Chester, 
impatiently. 

He  was  beginning,  or  so  he  thought,  to  understand. 
The  Club  was  evidently  a  quiet,  select  part  of  the  Casino, 
with  a  reading  room  and  so  on.  Sylvia  had  probably 
made  friends  with  some  French  people  in  her  hotel,  and 
they  had  persuaded  her  to  join  the  Club. 

He  was  beginning  to  throw  off  his  tiredness;  the  un- 
accustomed atmosphere  in  w^hich  he  found  himself  amused 
and  interested,  even  if  it  rather  shocked  him. 

Ten  minutes  later  he  also,  thanks  to  the  kind  oflBces 
of  M.  Polperro,  and  by  the  payment  of  twenty  francs. 


THE    CHINK    IN  THE   ARMOUR  227 

found  himself  a  member  of  the  Club;  free  of  that  inner 
sanctuary  where  the  devotees  of  the  fickle  goddess  play 
with  gold  instead  of  silver;  and  where,  as  even  Chester 
could  see,  the  people  who  stood  round  the  table,  risking 
with  quiet,  calculating  eyes  their  twenty-franc  pieces  and 
bank-notes,  were  of  a  very  different  social  standing  from 
the  merry,  careless  crowd  downstairs. 

In  the  Baccarat  Room  most  of  the  men  were  in  even- 
ing clothes,  and  the  women  with  them,  if  to  Chester's 
eyes  by  no  means  desirable  or  reputable-looking  com- 
panions, were  young,  pretty,  and  beautifully  dressed. 

Still,  the  English  lawyer  felt  a  thrill  of  disgust  at  the 
thought  that  Sylvia  Bailey  could  possibly  be  part  of  such 
a  company. 

Baccarat  was  being  played  at  both  tables,  but  the 
crowd  of  players  centred  rather  round  one  than  the  other, 
as  is  almost  always  the  way. 

M.  Polperro  touched  his  companion  on  the  arm,  "And 
now,  M'sieur,"  he  said  briefly,  "I  will  with  your  per- 
mission depart  home.  I  think  you  will  find  INIadame 
Bailey  at  that  further  table." 

Chester  shook  the  owner  of  the  Villa  du  Lac  cordially 
by  the  hand.  The  little  man  had  been  really  kind  and 
helpful.  It  was  a  pity  there  was  no  vacant  room  in  his 
hotel. 

He  made  his  way  to  the  further  table,  and  gradually 
reached  a  point  of  vantage  where  he  could  see  those  of 
the  players  who  were  seated  round  the  green  cloth. 

As  is  generally  the  case  when  really  high  play  is  going 
on,  the  people  who  were  playing,  as  also  those  watching 
them,  were  curiously  quiet. 


228  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

And  then,  with  a  shock  of  surprise  which  sent  the 
blood  to  his  cheeks,  Chester  suddenly  saw  that  Sylvia 
Bailey  was  sitting  nearly  opposite  to  where  he  himself 
was  standing. 

There  are  certain  scenes,  certain  human  groupings  of 
individuals,  which  remain  fixed  for  ever  against  the 
screen  of  memory.  Bill  Chester  will  never  forget  the 
sight  which  was  presented  to  him  in  the  Lacville  Casino 
by  the  particular  group  on  which  his  tired  eyes  became 
focussed  with  growing  amazement  and  attention. 

Sylvia  was  sitting  at  the  baccarat  table  next  to  the 
man  who  was  acting  as  Banker,  She  was  evidently  ab- 
sorbed in  the  fortunes  of  the  game,  and  she  followed  the 
slow  falling  of  the  fateful  cards  with  rather  feverish  in- 
tentness. 

Her  small  gloved  hands  rested  on  the  table,  one  of 
them  loosely  holding  a  tiny  ivory  rake;  and  on  a  bank- 
note spread  open  on  the  green  cloth  before  her  were  two 
neat  piles  of  gold,  the  one  composed  of  twenty-franc,  the 
other  of  ten-franc  pieces. 

Chester,  with  a  strange  feeling  of  fear  and  anger  clutch- 
ing at  his  heart,  told  himself  that  he  had  never  seen 
Sylvia  look  as  she  looked  to-night.  She  was  more  than 
pretty — she  was  lovely,  and  above  all,  alive — vividly 
alive.  There  was  a  bright  colour  on  her  cheek,  and  a 
soft  light  shining  in  her  eyes. 

The  row  of  pearls  which  had  occasioned  the  only  seri- 
ous difference  which  had  ever  arisen  between  them,  rose 
and  fell  softly  on  the  bosom  of  her  black  lace  dress. 

Chester  also  gradually  became  aware  that  his  beauti- 
ful friend  and  client  formed  .a  centre  of  attraction  to 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  229 

those  standing  round  the  gambhng-table.  Both  the  men 
and  the  women  stared  at  her,  some  enviously,  but  more 
with  kindly  admiration,  for  beauty  is  sure  of  its  tribute 
in  any  French  audience,  and  Sylvia  Bailey  to-night 
looked  radiantly  lovely — lovely  and  yet  surely  unhappy 
and  ill-at-ease. 

Well  might  she  look  both  in  such  a  place  and  among 
such  a  crew!     So  the  English  lawyer  angrily  told  himself. 

Now  and  again  she  turned  and  spoke  in  an  eager,  in- 
timate fashion  to  a  man  sitting  next  her  on  her  left. 
This  man,  oddly  enough,  was  not  playing. 

Sylvia  Bailey's  companion  was  obviously  a  French- 
man, or  so  Chester  felt  sure,  for  now  he  found  himself 
concentrating  his  attention  on  IMrs.  Bailey's  neighbour 
rather  than  on  her.  This  man,  to  whom  she  kept  turn- 
ing and  speaking  in  a  low,  earnest  tone,  was  slim  and 
fair,  and  what  could  be  seen  of  his  evening  clothes  fitted 
scrupulously  well.  The  Englishman,  looking  at  him  with 
alien,  jealous  eyes,  decided  within  himself  that  the 
Frenchman  with  whom  Sylvia  seemed  to  be  on  such 
friendly  terms,  was  a  foppish-looking  fellow,  not  at  all 
the  sort  of  man  she  ought  to  have  "picked  up"  on  her 
travels. 

Suddenly  Sylvia  raised  her  head,  throwing  it  back 
with  a  graceful  gesture,  and  Chester's  eyes  travelled  on 
to  the  person  who  was  standing  just  behind  her,  and  to 
whom  she  had  now  begun  speaking  with  smiling  anima- 
tion. 

This  was  a  woman — short,  stout,  and  swarthy — 
dressed  in  a  bright  purple  gown,  and  wearing  a  pale 
blue  bonnet  which  was  singularly  unbecoming  to  her  red. 


230  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

massive  face.  Chester  rather  wondered  that  such  an 
odd,  and  yes — such  a  respectable-looking  person  could 
be  a  member  of  this  gambling  club.  She  reminded  him 
of  the  stout  old  housekeeper  in  a  big  English  country 
house  near  Market  Bailing. 

Sylvia  seemed  also  to  include  in  her  talk  a  man  who 
was  standing  next  the  fat  woman.  He  was  tall  and 
lanky,  absurdly  and  unsuitably  dressed,  to  the  English 
onlooker,  in  a  white  alpaca  suit  and  a  shabby  Panama 
hat.  In  his  hand  he  held  a  little  book,  in  which  he  noted 
down  every  turn  of  the  game,  and  it  was  clear  to  Chester 
that,  though  he  listened  to  Mrs.  Bailey  with  civility,  he 
was  quite  uninterested  in  what  she  was  saying. 

Very  different  was  the  attitude  of  the  woman;  she 
seemed  absorbed  in  Sylvia's  remarks,  and  she  leant  for- 
ward familiarly,  throwing  all  her  weight  on  the  back  of 
the  chair  on  which  Mrs.  Bailey  was  sitting.  Sometimes 
as  she  spoke  she  smiled  in  a  way  that  showed  her  large, 
strong  teeth. 

Chester  thought  them  both  odd,  common-looking 
people.  He  was  surprised  that  Sylvia  knew  them — nay 
more,  that  she  seemed  on  such  friendly  terms  with  them; 
and  he  noticed  that  the  Frenchman  sitting  next  to  her 
— the  dandyish-looking  fellow  to  whom  she  had  been 
talking  just  now — took  no  part  at  all  in  her  present  con- 
versation. Once,  indeed,  he  looked  up  and  frowned,  as 
if  the  chatter  going  on  between  Mrs.  Bailey  and  her  fat 
friend  fretted  and  disturbed  him. 

Play  had  again  begun  in  earnest,  and  Sylvia  turned 
her  attention  to  the  table.  Her  neighbour  whispered 
something  which  at  once  caused  her  to  take  up  two 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  231 

napoleons  and  a  ten-franc  piece  from  the  pile  of  gold  in 
front  of  her.  Very  deliberately  she  placed  the  coins 
within  the  ruled-off  space  reserved  for  the  stakes. 

Bill  Chester,  staring  across  at  her,  felt  as  if  he  were  in 
a  nightmare — gazing  at  something  which  was  not  real, 
and  which  would  vanish  if  looked  at  long  enough. 

Could  that  lovely  young  woman,  who  sat  there,  look- 
ing so  much  at  home,  with  the  little  rake  in  her  hand  be 
Sylvia  Bailey,  the  quiet  young  widow  whose  perfect  pro- 
priety of  conduct  had  always  earned  the  praise  of  those 
matrons  of  Market  Bailing,  whom  Chester's  own  giddier 
sisters  called  by  the  irreverent  name  of  "old  cats"?  It 
was  fortunate  that  none  of  these  respectable  ladies  could 
see  Sylvia  now! 

To  those  who  regard  gambling  as  justifiable,  provided 
the  gambler's  means  allow  of  it,  even  to  those  who 
habitually  see  women  indulging  in  games  of  chance,  there 
will,  of  course,  be  something  absurd  in  the  point  of  view 
of  the  solicitor.  But  to  such  a  man  as  Bill  Chester,  the 
sight  of  the  woman  for  whom  he  had  always  felt  a  very 
sincere  respect,  as  well  as  a  far  more  enduring  and  jealous 
affection  than  he  quite  realised,  sitting  there  at  a  public 
gaming  table,  was  a  staggering — nay,  a  disgusting — 
spectacle. 

He  reminded  himself  angrily  that  Sylvia  had  a  good 
income — so  good  an  income  that  she  very  seldom  spent 
it  all  in  the  course  of  any  one  year.  Why,  therefore, 
should  she  wish  to  increase  it? 

Above  all,  how  could  she  bear  to  mingle  with  this 
queer,  horrid  crowd?  Why  should  she  allow  herself  to 
be  contaminated  by  breathing  the  same  air  as  some  of 


232  THE   CHINK   IX  THE   ARMOUR 

the  women  who  were  there  round  her?  She  and  the 
stout,  middle-aged  person  standing  behind  her  were 
probably  the  only  "respectable"  women  in  the  Club. 

And  then,  it  was  all  so  deliberate!  Chester  had  once 
seen  a  man  whom  he  greatly  respected  drunk,  and  the 
sight  had  ever  remained  with  him.  But,  after  all,  a  man 
may  get  drunk  by  accident — nay,  it  may  almost  be  said 
that  a  man  always  gets  drunk  by  accident.  But,  in  this 
matter  of  risking  her  money  at  the  baccarat  table,  Sylvia 
Bailey  knew  very  well  what  she  was  about. 

With  a  thrill  of  genuine  distress  the  lawyer  asked  him- 
self whether  she  had  not,  in  very  truth,  already  becoms 
a  confirmed  gambler.  It  was  with  an  assured,  familiar 
gesture  that  Sylvia  placed  her  money  on  the  green  clothj 
and  then  with  what  intelligent  knowledge  she  followed 
the  operations  of  the  Banker ! 

He  watched  her  when  her  fifty  francs  were  swept  away, 
and  noted  the  calm  manner  with  which  she  immediately 
took  five  louis  from  her  pile,  and  pushed  them,  with  her 
little  rake,  wtII  on  to  the  table. 

But  before  the  dealer  of  the  cards  had  spoken  the  fate- 
ful words:  " Le  jeu  est  fait  Rien  ne  m  'plus!"  Mrs. 
Bailey  uttered  an  exclamation  under  her  breath,  and 
hurriedly  rose  from  her  chair. 

She  had  suddenly  seen  Chester — seen  his  eyes  fixed 
on  her  with  a  perplexed,  angry  look  in  them,  and  the 
look  had  made  her  wdnce. 

Forgetting  that  she  still  had  a  stake  on  the  green  cloth, 
she  turned  away  from  the  table  and  began  making  her 
way  round  the  edge  of  the  circle. 

For  a  moment  Chester  lost  sight  of  her — there  were 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  233 

SO  many  people  round  the  table.  He  went  on  staring, 
hardly  knowing  what  he  was  doing,  at  the  four  pounds 
she  had  left  on  the  green  cloth. 

The  cards  were  quickly  dealt,  and  the  fateful,  to  Ches- 
ter the  incomprehensible,  words  were  quickly  uttered. 
Chester  saw  that  Sylvia,  unknowing  of  the  fact,  had 
won — that  five  louis  were  added  to  her  original  stake. 
The  fair-haired  Frenchman  in  evening  dress  by  whom 
Mrs.  Bailey  had  been  sitting  looked  round;  not  seeing 
her,  he  himself  swept  up  the  stake  and  slipped  the  ten 
louis  into  his  pocket. 

"Bill!  You  here?  I  had  quite  given  you  up!  I 
thought  you  had  missed  the  train — at  any  rate,  I  never 
thought  you  would  come  out  to  Lacville  as  late  as  this." 

The  bright  colour,  which  was  one  of  Sylvia's  chief 
physical  attributes,  had  faded  from  her  cheeks.  She 
looked  pale,  and  her  heart  was  beating  uncomfortably. 
She  would  have  given  almost  anything  in  the  world  for 
Bill  Chester  not  to  have  come  down  to  the  Club  and 
caught  her  like  this — "caught"  was  the  expression  poor 
Sylvia  used  to  herself. 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  she  went  on,  breathlessly,  "so  very 
sorry!  What  a  wretch  you  must  have  thought  me  I 
But  I  have  got  you  such  a  nice  room  in  a  pension  where 
a  friend  of  mine  was  for  a  time.  I  couldn't  get  you 
anything  at  the  Villa  du  Lac.  But  you  can  have  all 
your  meals  with  me  there.  It's  such  good  cooking,  and 
there's  a  lovely  garden,  Bill " 

Chester  said  nothing.  He  was  still  looking  at  her,  try- 
ing to  readjust  his  old  ideas  and  ideals  of  Sylvia  Bailey 
to  her  present  environment. 


234        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

Sylvia  suddenly  grew  very  red.  After  all,  Bill  Chester 
was  not  her  keeper!  He  had  no  right  to  look  as  angry, 
as — as  disgusted  as  he  was  now  doing. 

Then  there  came  to  both  a  welcome  diversion. 

"Ma  jolie  Syliiel  Will  you  not  introduce  me  to  your 
friend?" 

Madame  Wachner  had  elbowed  her  way  through  the 
crowd  to  where  Chester  and  jNIrs.  Bailey  were  standing. 
Her  husband  lagged  a  little  way  behind,  his  eyes  still 
following  the  play.  Indeed,  even  as  his  wife  spoke 
L'Ami  Fritz  made  a  note  in  the  little  book  he  held  in  his 
hand.  ^Vhen  in  the  Baccarat  Room  he  was  absolutely 
absorbed  in  the  play  going  on.  Nothing  could  really 
distract  him  from  it. 

Sylvia  felt  and  looked  relieved. 

"Oh,  Bill,"  she  exclaimed,  "let  me  introduce  j-ou  to 
Madame  Wachner?  She  has  been  very  kind  to  me  since 
I  came  to  Lacville." 

"I  am  enchanted  to  meet  you,  sir.  We  'oped  to  see 
you  at  dinner." 

Chester  bowed.  She  had  a  pleasant  voice,  this  friend 
of  Sylvia's,  and  she  spoke  English  well,  even  if  she  did 
drop  her  aitches! 

"It  is  getting  rather  late" — Chester  turned  to  Sylvia, 
but  he  spoke  quite  pleasantly. 

"Yes,  we  must  be  going;  are  you  staying  on?"  Sylvia 
was  addressing  the  woman  she  had  just  introduced  to 
Chester,  but  her  eyes  were  wandering  towards  the  gam- 
bling table.  Perhaps  she  had  suddenly  remembered  her 
five  louis. 

Chester  smiled  a  little  grimly  to  himself.     He  won- 


THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  235 

dered  if  Sylvia  would  be  surprised  to  hear  that  her  neigh- 
bour, the  fair  Frenchman  to  whom  she  had  been  talk- 
ing so  familiarly,  had  "collared"  her  stakes  and  her 
winnings. 

"No,  indeed!  We,  too,  must  be  going  'ome.  Come, 
Fritz,  it  is  getting  late."  The  devoted  wife  spoke  rather 
crossly.  They  all  four  turned,  and  slowly  walked  down 
the  room. 

Sylvia  instinctively  fell  behind,  keeping  step  with 
Monsieur  Wachner,  while  Chester  and  ^Madame  Wachner 
walked  in  front. 

The  latter  had  already  taken  the  measure  of  the  quiet, 
stolid-looking  Englishman.  She  had  seen  him  long  be- 
fore Sylvia  had  done  so,  and  had  watched  him  with  some 
attention,  guessing  almost  at  once  that  he  must  be  the 
Tian  for  whom  Mrs.  Bailey  had  waited  dinner. 

"I  suppose  that  this  is  your  first  visit  to  Lacville?"  she 
observed  smiling.  "Very  few  of  your  countrymen  come 
'ere,  sir,  but  it  is  an  interesting  and  curious  place — more 
really  curious  than  is  Monte  Carlo." 

She  lowered  her  voice  a  little,  but  Chester  heard  her 
next  words  very  clearly. 

"It  is  not  a  proper  place  for  our  pretty  friend,  but — 
ah !  she  loves  play  now !  The  Polish  lady,  Madame  Wol- 
sky,  was  also  a  great  lover  of  baccarat;  but  now  she  'as 
gone  away.  And  so,  when  Mrs.  Bailey  come  'ere,  like 
this,  at  night,  my  'usband  and  I — we  are  what  you  Eng- 
lish people  call  old-fashioned  folk — we  come,  too.  Not 
to  play — oh,  no,  but,  you  understand,  just  to  look  after 
'er.     She  is  so  innocent,  so  young,  so  beautiful!" 

Chester  looked  kindly  at  Madame  Wachner.     It  was 


236  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

very  decent  of  her — really  good-natured  and  motherly — 
to  take  such  an  interest  in  poor  Sylvia  and  her  delin- 
quencies. Yes,  that  was  the  wa}'  to  take  this — this 
matter  which  so  shocked  him.  Sylvia  Bailey — lovely, 
wilful,  spoilt  Sylvia — was  a  very  young  woman,  and 
ridiculously  innocent,  as  this  old  lady  truly  said. 

He,  Chester,  knew  that  a  great  many  nice  people  went 
to  Monte  Carlo,  and  spent  sometimes  a  good  deal  more 
money  than  they  could  afford  at  the  tables.  It  was 
absurd  to  be  angry  with  Sylvia  for  doing  here  what  very 
many  other  people  did  in  another  place.  He  felt  sin- 
cerely grateful  to  this  fat,  vulgar  looking  woman  for 
having  put  the"  case  so  clearly. 

"It's  very  good  of  you  to  do  that,"  he  answered  awk- 
wardly; "I  mean  it's  very  good  of  you  to  accompany 
Mrs.  Bailey  to  this  place,"  he  looked  round  him  with 
distaste. 

They  were  now  downstairs,  part  of  a  merry,  Jostling 
crowd,  which  contained,  as  all  such  crowds  naturally 
contain,  a  rather  rowdy  element.  "It  certainly  is  no 
place  for  Mrs.  Bailey  to  come  to  by  herself " 

He  was  going  to  add  something,  when  Sylvia  walked 
forward. 

"Where's  Count  Paul?"  she  asked,  anxiously,  of  Mad- 
ame Wachner.  "Surely  he  did  not  stay  on  at  the  table 
after  we  left?" 

Madame  Wachner  shook  her  head  slightly. 

"I  don't  know  at  all,"  she  said,  and  then  cast  a  mean- 
ing glance  at  Chester.  It  was  an  odd  look,  and  somehow 
it  inspired  him  with  a  prejudice  against  the  person,  this 
"  Count  Paul,"  of  whom  Sylvia  had  just  spoken. 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  237 

"Ah,  here  he  is! "  There  was  relief,  nay  gladness,  ring- 
ing in  Mrs.  Bailey's  frank  voice. 

The  Comte  de  Virieu  was  pushing  his  way  through  the 
slowly  moving  crowd.  Without  looking  at  the  Wachners, 
he  placed  ten  louis  in  Sylvia's  hand. 

"  Your  last  stake  was  doubled,"  he  said,  briefly.  "  Then 
that  means,  does  it  not,  Madame,  that  you  have  made 
thirty-two  louis  this  evening?     I  congratulate  you." 

Chester's  prejudice  grew,  unreasonably.  "Damn  the 
fellow;  then  he  was  honest,  after  all!  But  why  should 
he  congratulate  Mrs.  Bailey  on  having  won  thirty-two 
louis?" 

He  acknowledged  Sylvia's  introduction  of  the  Count 
very  stiffly,  and  he  was  relieved  when  the  other  turned 
on  his  heel — relieved,  and  yet  puzzled  to  see  how  sur- 
prised Sylvia  seemed  to  be  by  his  departure.  She  actu- 
ally tried  to  keep  the  Count  from  going  back  to  the  Club. 

"Aren't  you  coming  to  the  Villa  du  Lac?  It's  getting 
very  late,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  deep  disappointment. 

But  he,  bowling,  answered,  "No,  Madame;  it  is  im- 
possible." He  waited  a  moment,  then  muttered,  "I  have 
promised  to  take  the  Bank  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

Sylvia  turned  away.  Tears  had  sprung  to  her  eyes. 
But  Chester  saw  nothing  of  her  agitation,  and  a  moment 
later  they  were  all  four  out  in  the  kindly  darkness. 


CHAPTER  XX 

Even  to  Chester  there  was  something  grateful  in  the 
sudden  stillness  in  which  he  and  the  three  others  found 
themselves  on  leaving  the  Casino. 

"Not  a  very  safe  issue  out  of  a  place  where  people 
carry  about  such  a  lot  of  money!"  he  exclaimed,  as  they 
made  their  way  up  the  rough  little  lane.  "One  could 
half-throttle  anyone  here,  and  have  a  very  good  chance 
of  getting  off!" 

"Oh,  Lacville  is  a  very  safe  place!"  answered  Madame 
Wachner,  laughing  her  Jovial  laugh.  "Still,  considering 
all  the  money  made  by  the  Casino,  it  is  too  bad  they 
*aven't  made  a  more  splendid — what  do  you  call  it ?  " 

" Approach,"  said  L'Ami  Fritz,  in  his  deep  voice, 

and  Chester  turned,  rather  surprised.     It  was  the  first 
word  he  had  heard  Monsieur  Wachner  utter. 

Sylvia  was  trying  hard  to  forget  Count  Paul  and  his 
broken  promise,  and  to  be  her  natural  self. 

As  they  emerged  into  the  better-lighted  thoroughfare, 
where  stood  a  row  of  carriages,  she  said,  "I  will  drive 
with  you  to  the  Pension  Malfait,  Bill." 

Madame  Wachner  officiously  struck  in,  "Do  not  think 
of  driving  your  friend  to  the  Pension  Malfait,  dear  friend! 
We  will  gladly  leave  I\Ir.  Chester  there.  But  if  'e  does 
not  mind  we  will  walk  there;  it  is  too  fine  a  night  for 
driving." 

"But  how  about  your  luggage?"  said  Sylvia,  anxiously. 
"  Has  your  luggage  gone  on  to  the  Pension?" 

238 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  239 

"Yes,"  said  Chester,  shortly.  "Your  landlord  very 
kindly  said  he  would  see  to  its  being  sent  on." 

They  were  now  close  to  the  Villa  du  Lac.  "  Of  course, 
I  shall  expect  you  to  lunch  to-morrow,"  said  Sylvia. 
"Twelve  o'clock  is  the  time.  You'll  want  a  good  rest 
after  your  long  day." 

And  then  Chester  started  off  with  his  two  strange 
companions.  How  very  unlike  this  evening  had  been  to 
what  he  had  pictured  it  would  be!  Years  before,  as  a 
boy,  he  had  spent  a  week  at  a  primitive  seaside  hotel 
near  Dieppe.  He  had  thought  Lacville  would  be  like 
that.  He  had  imagined  himself  arriving  at  a  quiet,  rural, 
little  country  inn,  and  had  seen  himself  kindly,  if  a  little 
shyly,  welcomed  by  Sylvia.  He  could  almost  have 
laughed  at  the  contrast  between  the  place  his  fancy  had 
painted  and  the  place  he  had  found,  at  what  he  had 
thought  would  happen,  and  at  what  had  happened ! 

As  they  trudged  along,  Chester,  glancing  to  his  right, 
saw  that  there  were  still  a  great  many  boats  floating  on 
the  lake.     Did  Lacville  folk  never  go  to  bed? 

"Yes,"  said  Madame  Wachner,  quickly  divining  his 
thoughts,  "some  of  the  people  'ere — why,  they  stay 
out  on  the  water  all  night!  Then  they  catch  the  early 
train  back  to  Paris  in  the  morning,  and  go  and  work 
all  day.  Ah,  yes,  it  is  indeed  a  splendid  thing  to  be 
young!" 

She  sighed,  a  long,  sentimental  sigh,  and  looked  across, 
affectionately,  at  L'Ami  Fritz. 

"I  do  not  feel  my  youth  to  be  so  very  far  away,"  she 
said.  "  But  then,  the  people  in  my  dear  country  are  not 
cynical  as  are  the  French!" 


240  THE   CHINK   IX  THE   ARMOUR 

Her  husband  strode  forward  in  gloomy  silence,  prob- 
ably thinking  over  the  money  he  might  have  made  or 
lost  had  he  played  that  evening,  instead  of  only  noting 
down  the  turns  of  the  game. 

^Madame  Wachner  babbled  on,  making  conversation 
for  Chester. 

She  was  trying  to  find  out  something  more  about  this 
quiet  Englishman.  Why  had  he  come  to  Lacville?  How 
long  was  he  going  to  stay  here?  What  was  his  real  re- 
lation to  Sylvia  Bailey? 

Those  were  the  questions  that  the  pretty  English 
widow's  new  friend  was  asking  herself,  finding  answers 
thereto  which  were  unsatisfactory,  because  vague  and 
mysterious. 

At  last  she  ventured  a  direct  query. 

"Are  you  going  to  stay  long  in  this  beautiful  place. 
Monsieur?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Chester  shortly.  "I  don't  sup- 
pose I  shall  stay  very  long.  Fm  going  on  to  Switzerland. 
How  long  I  stay  will  a  little  bit  depend  on  Mrs.  Bailey's 
plans.  I  haven't  had  time  to  ask  her  anything  yet. 
What  sort  of  a  place  is  the  Villa  du  Lac?  " 

He  asked  the  question  abruptly;  he  was  already  full 
of  dislike  and  suspicion  of  everything,  though  not  of 
everybody,  at  Lacville.  These  Wachners  were  certainly 
nice,  simple  people. 

"Oh,  the  Villa  du  Lac  is  a  very  respectable  'ouse," 
said  Madame  Wachner  cautiously.  "It  is  full  of  re- 
spectable— what  do  you  call  them? — dowagers.  Oh,  you 
need  have  no  fear  for  your  friend,  sir;  she  is  quite  safe 
there.     And  you  know  she  does  not  often  go  to  the 


THE   CHINK   IN   THE   ARMOUR  241 

Casino" — she  told  the  He  with  bold  deliberation.  Some 
instinct  told  her  that  while  Chester  was  at  Lacville 
Sylvia  would  not  go  to  the  Casino  as  often  as  she  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  doing. 

There  was  a  pause — and  then  again  IVIadame  Wachner 
asked  the  Englishman  a  question : 

"Perhaps  you  will  go  on  to  Switzerland,  leaving  Mrs. 
Bailey  here,  and  then  come  back  for  her?" 

"Perhaps  I  shall,"  he  said  heavily,  without  really 
thinking  of  what  he  was  saying. 

They  were  now  walking  along  broad,  shady  roads 
which  reminded  him  of  those  in  a  well-kept  London 
suburb.  Not  a  sound  issued  from  any  of  the  houses 
which  stood  in  gardens  on  either  side,  and  in  the  moon- 
light he  saw  that  they  were  all  closely  shuttered.  It 
might  almost  have  been  a  little  township  of  empty 
houses. 

Again  the  thought  crossed  his  mind  what  a  dangerous 
place  these  lonely  roads  might  be  to  a  man  carrying  a 
lot  of  gold  and  notes  on  his  person.  They  had  not  met 
a  single  policeman,  or,  indeed,  anyone,  after  they  had 
left  the  side  of  the  lake. 

At  last  Madame  Wachner  stopped  short  before  a  large 
wooden  door. 

"'Ere  we  are!"  she  said  briskly.  "I  presume  they  are 
expecting  you,  sir?  If  they  are  not  expecting  you,  they 
will  probably  'ave  all  gone  to  bed.  So  we  will  wait,  will 
we  not,  Ami  Fritz,  and  see  this  gentleman  safe  in?  If 
the  worst  came  to  the  worst,  you  could  come  with  us  to 
our  villa  and  sleep  there  the  night." 

"You  are  awfully  kind  I"  said  Chester  heartily— and. 


242        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

indeed,  he  did  feel  this  entire  stranger's  kindness  excep- 
tional. 

How  fortunate  that  Sylvia  had  come  across  such  a 
nice,  simple,  kindly  woman  in  such  a  queer  place  as 
Lacville ! 

But  Madame  Wachner's  good-natured  proposal  had 
never  to  be  seriously  considered,  for  when  her  vigorous 
hand  found  and  pulled  the  bell  there  came  sounds  in 
the  courtyard  beyond,  and  a  moment  later  the  door 
swung  open. 

"Who's  there?"  cried  M.  Malfait  in  a  loud  voice. 

"It  is  the  English  gentleman,  Mrs.  Bailey's  friend," 
said  Madame  Wachner  quickly;  and  at  once  the  French- 
man's voice  softened. 

"Ah!  we  had  quite  given  up  M'sieur,"  he  said  amiably. 
"Come  in,  come  in!  Yes,  the  bag  has  arrived;  but 
people  often  send  their  luggage  before  they  come  them- 
selves. Just  as  they  sometimes  leave  their  luggage  after 
they  themselves  have  departed!" 

Chester  was  shaking  hands  cordially  with  the  Wachners. 

"Thank  you  for  all  your  kindness,"  he  said  heartily. 
"I  hope  we  shall  meet  again  soon!  I  shall  certainly  be 
here  for  some  days.  Perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to  call 
on  you?" 

Once  the  good-natured  couple  had  walked  off  arm  in 
arm  into  the  night,  the  door  of  the  Pension  Malfait  was 
locked  and  barred,  and  Chester  followed  his  landlord 
into  the  long,  dark  house. 

"One  has  to  be  careful.  There  are  so  many  queer 
characters  about,"  said  M.  IMalfait;  and  then,  "Will 
M'sieur  have  something  to  eat?     A  little  refreshment,  a 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUH  243 

bottle  of  lemonade,  or  of  pale  ale?  We  have  splendid 
Bass's  ale,"  he  said,  solicitously. 

But  the  Englishman  shook  his  head,  smiling.  "Oh, 
no,"  he  said  slowly,  in  his  bad  French,  "  I  dined  in  Paris. 
All  I  need  now  is  a  good  night's  rest." 

"And  that  M'sieur  will  certainly  have,"  said  the  land- 
lord civilly.  "Lacville  is  famous  for  its  sleep-producing 
qualities.  That  is  why  so  many  Parisians  content  them- 
selves with  coming  here  instead  of  going  further  afield." 

They  were  walking  through  the  lower  part  of  the 
house,  and  then  suddenly  IM.  Malfait  exclaimed,  "I  was 
forgetting  the  bath-room!  I  know  how  important  to 
English  gentlemen  the  bath-room  is!" 

The  pleasant  vista  of  a  good  hot  bath  floated  before 
Chester's  weary  brain  and  body.  Really  the  house  was 
liot  as  primitive  as  he  had  thought  it  when  he  had  seen 
the  landlord  come  forward  with  a  candle. 

M.  Malfait  turned  round  and  flung  open  a  door. 

"It  was  an  idea  of  my  wife's,"  he  said  proudly.  "You 
see,  M'sieur,  the  apartment  serves  a  double  purpose " 

And  it  did !  For  the  odd  little  room  into  which  Chester 
Was  shown  by  his  host  served  as  store  cupboard  as  well 
as  bath-room.  It  was  lined  with  shelves  on  w^hicli  stood 
serried  rows  of  pots  of  home-made  jam,  jars  of  oil  and 
vinegar,  and  huge  tins  of  rice,  vermicelli,  and  tapioca, 
tn  a  corner  a  round  zinc  basin — but  a  basin  of  Brob- 
dignagian  size — stood  under  a  cold  water  tap. 

"The  bath  is  for  those  of  our  visitors  who  do  not 
follow  the  regular  hydropathic  treatment  for  which  Lac- 
ville is  still  famous,"  said  the  landlord  pompously. 
"But  I  must  ask  INI'sieur  not  to  fill  the  bath  too  full, 
for  it  is  a  great  affair  to  empty  it!" 


244        THE  CHINK  IX  THE  ARMOUR 

He  shut  the  door  carefully,  and  led  the  way  upstairs. 

"Here  we  are,"  he  whispered  at  last.  "I  hope  M'sieur 
will  be  satisfied.  This  is  a  room  which  was  occupied  by 
a  charming  Polish  lady,  Madame  Wolsky,  who  was  a 
friend  of  M'sieur's  friend,  Madame  Bailey.  But  she  left 
suddenly  a  week  ago,  and  so  we  have  the  room  at  M'sieur's 
disposal." 

He  put  the  candle  down,  and  bowed  himself  out  of 
the  room. 

Chester  looked  round  the  large,  bare  sleeping  chamber 
in  which  he  found  himself  with  the  agreeable  feeling  that 
his  long,  hot,  exciting  day  was  now  at  an  end. 

Yes,  it  was  a  pleasant  room — bare,  and  yet  furnished 
with  everything  essential  to  comfort.  Thus  there  was  a 
good  big,  roomy  arm-chair,  a  writing-table,  and  a  clock, 
of  which  the  hands  now  pointed  to  a  quarter  to  one 
o'clock. 

The  broad,  low  bed,  pushed  back  into  an  alcove  as  is 
the  French  fashion,  looked  delightfully  cool  and  inviting 
by  the  light  of  his  one  candle. 

When  M.  Malfait  had  shown  him  into  the  room  the 
window  was  wide  open  to  the  hot,  starless  night,  but 
the  landlord,  though  he  had  left  the  window  open,  had 
drawn  the  thick  curtains  across  it.  That  was  all  right; 
Chester  had  no  wish  to  be  wakened  at  five  in  the  morn- 
ing by  the  sunlight  streaming  into  the  room.  He  meant 
to  have  a  really  long  rest.  He  was  too  tired  to  think — 
too  tired  to  do  anj'thing  but  turn  in. 

And  then  an  odd  thing  happened.     Chester's  brain  was 
so  thoroughly  awake,  he  had  become  so  over-excited,  that 
he  could  not,  try  as  he  might,  fall  asleep. 
i^  He  lay  awake  tossing  about  hour  after  hour.     And 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  245 

then,  when  at  last  he  did  fall  into  a  heavy,  troubled 
slumber,  he  was  disturbed  by  extraordinary  and  un- 
pleasant dreams — nightmares  in  which  Sylvia  Bailey 
seemed  to  play  a  part. 

At  last  he  roused  himself  and  pulled  back  the  curtains 
from  across  the  window.  It  was  already  dawn,  but  he 
thought  the  cool  morning  air  might  induce  sleep,  and  for 
a  while,  lying  on  his  side  away  from  the  light,  he  did  doze 
lightly. 

Quite  suddenly  he  was  awakened  by  the  sensation,  nay, 
the  knowledge,  that  there  was  someone  in  the  room!  So 
vivid  was  this  feeling  of  unwished-for  companionship 
that  he  got  up  and  looked  in  the  shadowed  recess  of  the 
alcove  in  which  stood  his  bed;  but,  of  course,  there  was 
no  one  there.  In  fact  there  would  not  have  been  space 
there  for  any  grown-up  person  to  squeeze  into. 

He  told  himself  that  what  he  had  heard — if  he  had 
heard  anything — was  someone  bringing  him  his  coffee 
•ftnd  rolls,  and  that  the  servant  had  probably  been  trying 
to  attract  his  attention,  for,  following  his  prudent  cus- 
tom, he  had  locked  his  door  the  night  before. 

He  unlocked  the  door  and  looked  out,  staring  this  way 
and  that  along  the  empty  passage.  But  no,  in  spite  of 
the  now-risen  sun,  it  was  still  early  morning;  the  Pen- 
sion Malfait  was  sunk  in  sleep, 

Chester  went  back  to  bed.  He  felt  tired,  disturbed, 
Uneasy;  sleep  was  out  of  the  question;  so  he  lay  back, 
and  with  widely-open  eyes,  began  to  think  of  Sylvia 
Bailey  and  of  the  strange  events  of  the  night  before. 

He  lived  again  the  long  hour  he  had  spent  at  the 
Casino.    He  could  almost  smell  the  odd,  sweet,  stuffy 


246        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

smell  of  the  Baccarat  Room,  and  there  rose  before  him 
its  queer,  varied  inmates.  He  visioned  distinctly  Sylvia 
Bailey  as  he  had  suddenly  seen  her,  sitting  before  the 
green  cloth,  with  her  money  piled  up  before  her,  and  a 
look  of  eager  interest  and  absorption  on  her  face. 

There  had  always  been  in  Sylvia  something  a  little 
rebellious,  a  touch  of  individuality  whicli  made  her  un- 
like the  other  women  he  knew,  and  which  fascinated  and 
attracted  him.  She  was  a  woman  who  generally  knew 
her  own  mind,  and  who  had  her  own  ideas  of  right  and 
wrong.  Lying  there,  he  remembered  how  determined 
she  had  been  about  those  pearls.  .  .  . 

Chester's  thoughts  took  a  softer  turn.  How  very,  very 
pretty  she  had  looked  last  evening — more  than  pretty — 
lovelier  than  he  had  ever  seen  her.  There  seemed  to  be 
new  depths  in  her  blue  eyes. 

But  Chester  was  shrewd  enough  to  know  that  Sylvia 
had  felt  ashamed  to  be  caught  by  him  gambling — gam- 
bling, too,  in  such  very  mixed  company.  Well,  she  would 
soon  be  leaving  Lacville!  What  a  pity  those  friends  of 
hers  had  given  up  their  Swiss  holiday!  It  would  have 
been  so  jolly  if  they  could  have  gone  on  there  together. 

He  got  tired  of  lying  in  bed.  What  a  long  night,  as 
well  as  a  very  short  night,  it  had  been!  He  rose  and 
made  his  way  down  to  the  primitive  bath-room.  It 
would  be  delightful  to  have  any  sort  of  bath,  and  the 
huge  zinc  basin  had  its  points 

As  Chester  went  quicldy  back  to  his  room,  instead  of 
feeling  refreshed  after  his  bath,  he  again  experienced  the 
disagreeable  sensation  that  he  was  not  alone.  This  time 
he  felt  as  if  he  were  being  accompanied  by  an  invisible 


THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARJIOUR  247 

presence.  It  was  a  very  extraordinary  and  a  most  un- 
pleasant feeling,  one  which  Chester  had  never  experi- 
enced before,  and  it  made  him  afraid — afraid  he  knew 
not  of  what. 

Being  the  manner  of  man  he  was,  he  began  to  think 
that  he  must  be  ill — that  there  must  be  something  the 
matter  with  his  nerves.  Had  he  been  at  home,  in  Market 
Dalling,  he  would  have  gone  to  a  doctor  without  loss  of 
time. 

Long  afterwards,  when  people  used  to  speak  before 
him  of  haunted  houses,  Bill  Chester  would  remember 
the  Pension  INIalfait  and  the  extraordinary  sensations  he 
had  experienced  there — sensations  the  more  extraordinary 
that  there  was  nothing  to  account  for  them. 

But  Chester  never  told  anyone  of  his  experiences,  and 
indeed  there  was  nothing  to  tell.  He  never  saw  an>i:hing, 
he  never  even  heard  anything,  but  now  and  again,  es- 
pecially when  he  was  lying  awake  at  night  and  in  the 
early  morning,  the  lawyer  felt  as  if  some  other  entity 
was  struggling  to  communicate  with  him  and  could  not 
do  so.  .  .  . 

The  whole  time  he  was  there — and  he  stayed  on  at 
Lacville,  as  we  shall  see,  rather  longer  than  he  at  first 
intended — Chester  never  felt,  when  in  his  room  at  the 
Pension  Malfait  really  alone,  and  sometimes  the  impres- 
sion became  almost  intolerably  vivid. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

But  the  longest  night,  the  most  haunted  night,  and 
Chester's  night  had  indeed  been  haunted,  comes  to  an 
end  at  last.  After  he  had  had  another  bath  and  a  good 
breakfast  he  felt  a  very  different  man  to  what  he  had 
done  three  of  four  hours  ago,  lying  awake  in  the  sinister, 
companioned  atmosphere  of  his  bed-room  at  the  Pension 
Malfait. 

Telling  his  courteous  landlord  that  he  would  not  be  in 
to  luncheon,  Chester  left  the  house,  and  as  it  was  still 
far  too  early  to  seek  out  Sylvia,  he  struck  out,  with  the 
aid  of  the  little  pocket-map  of  the  environs  of  Paris  with 
which  he  had  been  careful  to  provide  himself,  towards 
the  open  country. 

And  as  he  swung  quickly  along,  feeling  once  more  tired 
and  depressed,  the  Englishman  wondered  more  and  more 
why  Sylvia  Bailey  cared  to  stay  in  such  a  place  as  Lac- 
ville.  It  struck  him  as  neither  town  nor  country — more 
like  an  unfinished  suburb  than  anything  else,  with  almost 
every  piece  of  spare  land  up  for  sale. 

He  walked  on  and  on  till  at  last  he  came  to  the  edge 
of  a  great  stretch  of  what  looked  like  primeval  wood- 
land. This  surely  must  be  part  of  the  famous  Forest  of 
Montmorency,  which  his  guide-book  mentioned  as  being 
the  great  attraction  of  Lacville?  He  wondered  cynically 
whether  Sylvia  had  ever  been  so  far,  and  then  he  plunged 
into  the  wood,  along  one  of  the  ordered  alleys  which  to 

248 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  249 

his  English  eyes  looked  so  little  forest-like,  and  yet  which 
made  walking  there  very  pleasant. 

Suddenly  there  fell  on  his  ear  the  sound  of  horses  trot- 
ting quickly.  He  looked  round,  and  some  hundred  yards 
or  so  to  his  right,  at  a  place  where  four  roads  met  under 
high  arching  trees,  he  saw  two  riders,  a  man  and  a  woman, 
pass  by.  They  had  checked  their  horses  to  a  walk,  and 
as  their  voices  floated  over  to  him,  the  woman's  voice 
seemed  extraordinarily,  almost  absurdly,  familiar — in  fact, 
he  could  have  sworn  it  was  Sylvia  Bailey's  voice. 

Chester  stopped  in  his  walk  and  shrugged  his  shoulders 
impatiently.  She  must  indeed  be  dwelling  in  his  thoughts 
if  he  thus  involuntarily  evoked  her  presence  where  she 
could  by  no  stretch  of  possibility  be. 

But  that  wandering  echo  brought  Sylvia  Bailey  very 
near  to  Chester,  and  once  more  he  recalled  her  as  he 
had  seen  her  sitting  at  the  gambling  table  the  night 
before. 

In  grotesque  juxtaposition  he  remembered,  together 
with  that  picture  of  Sylvia  as  he  had  seen  her  last  night, 
the  case  of  a  respectable  old  lady,  named  Mrs.  Meeks, 
the  widow  of  a  clergyman  who  had  had  a  living  in  the 
vicinity  of  Market  Bailing. 

Not  long  after  her  husband's  death  this  old  lady — she 
had  about  three  hundred  a  year,  and  Chester  had  charge 
of  her  money  matters — went  abroad  for  a  few  weeks  to 
Mentone.  Those  few  weeks  had  turned  Mrs.  Meeks  into 
a  confirmed  gambler.  She  now  lived  entirely  at  Monte 
Carlo  in  one  small  room. 

He  could  not  help  remembering  now  the  kind  of  re- 
marks that  were  made  by  the  more  prosperous  inhabitants 


250  THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR 

of  Market  Dalling,  his  fellow  citizens,  when  they  went 
off  for  a  short  holiday  to  the  South,  in  January  or  Fel> 
ruary.  They  would  see  this  poor  lady,  this  Mrs.  Meeks, 
wandering  round  the  gaming  tables,  and  the  sight  would 
amuse  and  shock  them.  Chester  knew  that  one  of  the 
jQrst  things  said  to  him  after  the  return  of  such  people 
would  be,  "Who  d'you  think  I  saw  at  Monte  Carlo? 
Why,  Mrs.  Meeks,  of  course!  It's  enough  to  make  her 
husband  turn  in  his  grave," 

And  now  he  told  himself  ruefully  that  it  would  be 
enough  to  make  honest  George  Bailey  turn  in  his  grave 
could  he  see  his  pretty,  sheltered  Sylvia  sitting  in  the 
Casino  at  Lacville,  surrounded  by  the  riffraff  collected 
there  last  night,  and  actually  taking  an  active  part  in  the 
game  as  well  as  risking  her  money  with  business-like 
intentness. 

He  wondered  if  he  could  persuade  Sylvia  to  leave  Lac^ 
ville  soon.  In  any  case  he  would  himself  stay  on  here 
three  or  four  days — he  had  meant  only  to  stay  twenty- 
four  hours,  for  he  was  on  his  way  to  join  a  friend  whose 
Swiss  holiday  was  limited.  The  sensible  thing  for  Sylvia 
to  do  would  be  to  go  back  to  England. 

Chester  reached  the  Villa  du  Lac  at  half-past  eleven^ 
and  as  he  went  out  into  the  charming  garden  where  h& 
was  told  he  would  find  IMrs.  Bailey  he  told  himself  that 
Lacville  was  not  without  some  innocent  attractions. 
But  Mrs.  Bailey  was  not  alone  in  this  lovely  garden. 
Sitting  on  the  lawn  by  her  was  the  Frenchman  who  had 
been  with  her  when  Chester  had  first  caught  sight  of  her 
at  the  Casino  the  night  before. 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  251 

The  two  were  talking  so  earnestly  that  they  only  be- 
came aware  of  his  approach  when  he  was  close  to  them, 
and  though  Chester  was  not  a  particularly  observant 
man,  he  had  an  instant  and  most  unpleasant  impression 
that  he  had  come  too  soon;  that  Sylvia  was  not  glad  to 
see  him;  and  that  the  Frenchman  was  actually  annoyed, 
even  angered,  by  his  sudden  appearance. 

"We  might  begin  lunch  a  little  earlier  than  twelve 
o'clock,"  said  Sylvia,  getting  up.  "They  serve  lunch 
from  half-past  eleven,  do  they  not?"  she  turned  to  the 
Comte  de  Virieu. 

"Yes,  Madame,  that  is  so,"  he  said;  and  then  he 
added,  bowing,  "And  now  perhaps  I  should  say  good- 
bye. I  am  going  into  Paris,  as  you  know,  early  this 
afternoon,  and  then  to  Brittany.  I  shall  be  away  two 
nights." 

"You  will  remember  me  to  your  sister,  to — to  the 
Duchesse,"  faltered  Sylvia. 

Chester  looked  at  her  sharply.  This  Frenchman's 
sister?  The  Duchesse? — how  very  intimate  Sylvia 
seemed  to  be  with  the  fellow! 

As  the  Count  turned  and  sauntered  back  to  the  house 
she  said  rather  breathlessly, 

"The  Comte  de  Virieu  has  been  very  kind  to  me,  Bill. 
He  took  me  into  Paris  to  see  his  sister;  she  is  the  Duchesse 
d'Eglemont.  You  will  remember  that  the  Due  d'Egle- 
mont  won  the  Derby  two  years  ago?" 

And  as  he  made  no  answer  she  went  on,  as  if  on  the 
defensive. 

"The  Comte  de  Virieu  has  to  go  away  to  the  funeral 
of  his  godmother.     I  am  sorry,  for  I  should  have  liked 


252  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

you  to  have  become  friends  with  him.  He  was  at  school 
in  England — that  is  why  he  speaks  EngUsh  so  well." 

WTiile  they  were  enjoying  the  excellent  luncheon  pre- 
pared for  them  bj'  M.  Polperro,  Chester  was  uncomfort- 
ably aware  that  the  Count,  sitting  at  his  solitary  meal 
at  another  table,  could,  should  he  care  to  do  so,  overhear 
every  word  the  other  two  w^ere  saying. 

But  Paul  de  Virieu  did  not  look  across  or  talk  as  an 
Englishman  would  probablj^  have  done  had  he  been  on 
familiar  terms  with  a  fellow-guest  in  an  hotel.  Instead 
he  devoted  himself,  in  the  intervals  of  the  meal,  to  read- 
ing a  paper.  But  now  and  again  Chester,  glancing  across, 
could  see  the  other  man's  eyes  fixed  on  himself  with  a 
penetrating,  thoughtful  look.  What  did  this  Frenchman 
mean  by  staring  at  him  like  that? 

As  for  Sylvia,  she  was  obviously  ill  at  ease.  She 
talked  quickly,  rather  disconnectedly,  of  the  many  things 
appertaining  to  her  life  at  home,  in  Market  Dalling, 
which  she  had  in  common  with  the  English  lawyer.  She 
only  touched  on  the  delightful  time  she  had  had  in  Paris, 
and  she  said  nothing  of  Lacville. 

Long  before  the  others  had  finished.  Count  Paul  got 
up;  before  leaving  the  dining-room,  he  turned  and  bowed 
ceremoniously  to  Sylvia  and  her  companion.  With  his 
disappearance  it  seemed  to  Chester  that  Sylvia  at  once 
became  her  natural,  simple,  eager,  happy  self.  She 
talked  less,  she  listened  more,  and  at  last  Chester  began 
to  enjoy  his  holiday. 

They  went  out  again  into  the  garden,  and  the  wide 
lawn,  with  its  shaded  spaces  of  deep  green,  was  a  delicious 
place  in  which  to  spend  a  quiet,  idle  hour.     They  sat 


THE  CHINK   IN   THE   ARMOUR  253 

down  and  drank  their  coffee  under  one  of  the  cedars  of 
Lebanon. 

"This  is  a  very  dehghtful,  curious  kind  of  hotel,"  he 
said  at  last.  "  And  I  confess  that  now  I  understand  why 
you  Hke  Lacville.  But  I  do  wonder  a  little,  Sylvia" — he 
looked  at  her  gravely — "that  you  enjoy  going  to  that 
Casino." 

"You  see,  there's  so  very  little  else  to  do  here!"  she 
exclaimed,  deprecatingly.  "And  then,  after  all.  Bill,  I 
don't  see  what  harm  there  is  in  risking  one's  money  if 
one  can  afford  to  do  so!" 

He  shook  his  head  at  her — playfully,  but  seriously  too. 
"Don't  you?"  he  asked  dryly. 

"Why,  there's  Madame  Wachner,"  said  Sylvia  sud- 
denly, and  Chester  thought  there  was  a  little  touch  of 
relief  in  her  voice. 

"Madame  Wachner?"  And  then  the  Englishman, 
gazing  at  the  stout,  squat  figure  which  was  waddling 
along  the  grass  towards  them,  remembered. 

This  was  the  good  lady  who  had  been  so  kind  to  him 
the  night  before;  nay,  who  had  actually  offered  to  give 
him  a  bed  if  the  Pension  Malfait  had  been  closed. 

"We  'ave  lunched  in  the  town,"  she  said,  partly  ad- 
dressing Chester,  "and  so  I  thought  I  would  come  and 
ask  you,  INIadame  Sylvia,  whether  you  and  your  friend 
will  come  to  tea  at  the  Villa  des  INIuguets  to-day?" 
She  fixed  her  bright  little  eyes  on  Sylvia's  face. 

Sylvia  looked  at  Chester;  she  was  smiling;  he  thought 
she  would  like  him  to  accept. 

"That  is  very  kind  of  you,"  he  said  cordially. 

Sylvia  nodded  her  head  gaily:    "You  are  more  than 


254  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

kind,  dear  Madame  Wachner,"  she  exclaimed.  "We 
shall  be  delighted  to  come!  I  thought  of  taking  Mr. 
Chester  a  drive  through  the  Forest  of  Montmorency. 
Will  it  do  if  we  are  with  you  about  five?" 

"Yes,"  said  Madame  Wachner. 

And  then,  to  Chester's  satisfaction,  she  turned  and 
went  away.  "I  cannot  stay  now,"  she  said,  "for  I'Ami 
Fritz  is  waiting  for  me.  'E  does  not  like  to  be  kept 
waiting." 

"WTiat  a  nice  woman!"  said  Chester  heartily,  "and 
how  lucky  you  are,  Sylvia,  to  have  made  her  acquaint- 
ance in  such  a  queer  place  as  this.  But  I  suppose  you 
have  got  to  know  quite  a  number  of  people  in  the  hotel?" 

"Well,  no ,"  she  stopped  abruptly.     She  certainly 

had  come  to  know  the  Comte  de  Virieu,  but  he  was  the 
exception,  not  the  rule. 

"You  see.  Bill,  Lacville  is  the  sort  of  place  where 
everyone  thinks  everyone  else  rather  queer!  I  fancy 
some  of  the  ladies  here — they  are  mostly  foreigners, 
Russians,  and  Germans — think  it  very  odd  that  I  should 
be  by  myself  in  such  a  place." 

She  spoke  without  thinking — in  fact  she  uttered  her 
thoughts  aloud. 

"Then  you  admit  that  it  is  rather  a  queer  place  for 
you  to  be  staying  in  by  yourself,"  he  said  slowly. 

"No,  I  don't!"  she  protested  eagerly.  "But  don't 
let's  talk  of  disagreeable  things — I'm  going  to  take  you 
such  a  splendid  drive!" 

Chester  never  forgot  that  first  day  of  his  at  Lacville. 
It  was  by  far  the  pleasantest  day  he  spent  there,  and 


THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  2oO 

Sylvia  Bailey,  woman-like,  managed  entirely  to  conceal 
from  him  that  she  was  not  as  pleased  with  their  expedi- 
tion as  was  her  companion. 

Thanks  to  M.  Polperro's  good  offices,  they  managed 
to  hire  a  really  good  motor;  and  once  clear  of  the  fan- 
tastic little  houses  and  the  waste  ground  which  was  all 
up  for  sale,  how  old-world  and  beautiful  were  the  little 
hamlets,  the  remote  stretches  of  woodland  and  the  quiet 
country  towns  through  which  they  sped  I 

On  their  way  back,  something  said  by  Sylvia  surprised 
and  disturbed  Chester  very  much.  She  had  meant  to 
conceal  the  fact  that  she  was  riding  with  Paul  de  Virieu 
each  morning,  but  it  is  very  difficult  for  one  accustomed 
always  to  tell  the  truth  to  use  deceit.  And  suddenly  a 
careless  word  revealed  to  Chester  that  the  horsewoman 
whose  voice  had  sounded  so  oddly  familiar  to  him  in  the 
Forest  that  morning  had  really  been  Sylvia  herself  I 

He  turned  on  her  quickly:  "Then  do  you  ride  every 
morning  with  this  Frenchman?  "  he  asked  quietly. 

"Almost  every  morning,"  she  answered.  "His  sister 
lent  me  a  horse  and  a  riding  habit.  It  was  very  kind  of 
her,"  she  raised  her  voice,  and  blushed  deeply  in  the 
rushing  wind. 

Chester  felt  his  mind  suddenly  fill  with  angry  sus- 
picion. Was  it  possible  that  this  Comte  de  Virieu,  this 
man  of  whom  that  nice  Madame  Wachner  had  spoken 
with  such  scorn  as  a  confirmed  gambler,  was  "making 
up"  to  Sylvia?  It  was  a  monstrous  idea — but  Chester, 
being  a  solicitor,  knew  only  too  well  that  in  the  matter 
of  marriage  the  most  monstrous  and  disastrous  things  are 
not  only  always  possible  but  sometimes  probable.     Ches- 


256        THE  CHINK  IX  THE  ARMOUR 

ter  believed  that  all  Frenchmen  regard  marriage  as  a 
matter  of  business.  To  such  a  man  as  this  Count,  ]\Irs. 
Bailey's  fortune  would  be  a  godsend. 

"Sylvia!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  low,  stern  voice. 

He  turned  round  and  looked  at  her.  She  w'as  staring 
straight  before  her;  the  colour  had  faded  from  her  cheek; 
she  looked  pale  and  tired. 

"Sylvia!"  he  repeated.  "Listen  to  me,  and — and 
don't  be  offended." 

She  glanced  quickly  at  the  man  sitting  by  her  side. 
His  voice  was  charged  with  emotion,  with  anger. 

"Don't  be  angry  with  me,"  he  repeated.  "If  my  sus- 
picion, my  fear,  is  unfounded,  I  beg  your  pardon  with 
all  my  heart." 

Sylvia  got  up  and  touched  the  driver  on  the  shoulder. 
"Please  slow  down,"  she  said  in  French,  "we  are  going 
faster  than  I  like." 

Then  she  sank  back  in  her  seat.  "Yes,  Bill!  What 
is  it  you  wish  to  ask  me?  I  couldn't  hear  you  properly. 
We  were  going  too  fast." 

,  "Is  it  possible,  is  it  conceivable,  that  you  are  thinking 
of  marrying  this  Frenchman?" 

"No,"  said  Sylvia,  very  quietly,  "I  am  not  thinking  of 
marrying  the  Comte  de  Virieu.  But  he  is  my  friend.  I — 
I  like  and  respect  him.  No,  Bill,  you  need  not  fear  that 
the  Comte  de  Virieu  will  ever  ask  me  to  become  his  wife." 

"But  if  he  did?"  asked  Chester,  hoarsely. 

"You  have  no  right  to  ask  me  such  a  question,"  she 
answered,  passionately;  and  then,  after  a  pause,  she 
ftdded,  in  a  low  voice:  "But  if  he  did,  I  should  say  no, 
BiU." 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR  257 

Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  As  for  Chester,  he  felt  a 
variety  of  conflicting  emotions,  of  which  perhaps  the 
strongest  was  a  determination  that  if  he  could  not  get 
her  no  one  else  should  do  so.  This — this  damned  French 
gambler  had  touched  Sylvia's  kind  heart.  Surely  she 
couldn't  care  for  a  man  she  had  only  known  a  month, 
and  such  an  affected,  dandified  fellow,  too? 

It  was  with  relief  that  they  both  became  aware  a  few 
moments  later  that  they  were  on  the  outskirts  of  Lacville. 

"Here  is  the  Chalet  des  Muguets!"  exclaimed  Sylvia. 
"Isn't  it  a  funny  Httle  place?"  -^ 

The  English  lawyer  stared  at  the  bright  pink  building 
with  curiosity  and  amusement.  It  was  indeed  a  funny 
little  place,  this  brick-built  bungalow,  so  fantastically  and, 
to  his  British  eyes,  so  ridiculously  decorated  with  blue 
china  lozenges,  on  which  were  painted  giant  lilies  of  the 
valley. 

But  he  had  not  long  to  look,  for  as  the  car  drew  up 
before  the  white  gate  Madame  Wachner's  short,  broad 
figure  came  hurrying  down  the  path. 

She  opened  the  gate,  and  with  boisterous  heartiness 
welcomed  Chester  and  Sylvia  into  the  neglected  garden. 

Chester  looked  round  him  with  an  involuntary  surprise. 
The  Wachners'  home  was  entirely  unlike  what  he  had 
expected  to  find  it.  He  had  thought  to  see  one  of  those 
trim,  neat  little  villas  surrounded  by  gay,  exquisitely 
tended  little  gardens  which  are  the  pride  of  the  Parisian 
suburban  dweller. 

Madame  Wachner  caught  his  glance,  and  the  thought 
crossed  her  mind  uncomfortably  that  she  had  perhaps 
made  a  mistake,  a  serious  mistake,  in  asking  this  priggish- 


258  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

looking  Englishman  to  come  to  the  Chalet  desMuguets. 
He  evidently  did  not  like  the  look  of  the  place. 

"You  wonder  to  see  our  garden  so  untidy,"  she  ex- 
claimed, regretfully.  "Well,  it  is  the  owner's  fault,  not 
ours!  You  would  not  believe  such  a  thing  of  a  French- 
man, but  'e  actually  made  us  promise  that  we  would  do 
nothing — no,  nothing  at  all,  to  'is  garden.  'E  spoke  of 
sending  a  man  once  a  week  to  see  after  it,  but  no,  'e  never 
did  so." 

"I  have  often  wondered,"  broke  in  Sylvia  frankly, 
"why  you  allowed  your  garden  to  get  into  such  a  state, 
but  now,  of  course,  I  understand.  What  a  very  odd 
person  your  landlord  must  be,  INIadame  Wachner!  It 
might  be  such  a  delightful  place  if  kept  in  good  order. 
But  I'm  glad  you  have  had  the  grass  cut.  I  remember 
the  first  time  I  came  here  the  grass  was  tremendously 
high,  both  in  front  and  behind  the  house.  Yesterday  I 
saw  that  you  have  had  it  cut." 

"Yes,"  said  Madame  Wachner,  glancing  at  her," yes,  we 
had  the  grass  cut  a  few  days  ago.     Fritz  insisted  on  it." 

"  If  it  had  been  as  high  as  it  was  the  first  time  I  came 
here,  I  could  never  have  made  my  way  through  it  to  the 
'delightful  little  wood  that  lies  over  there,  behind  the 
chalet,"  went  on  Sylvia.  "I  don't  think  I  told  you  that 
I  went  over  there  yesterday  and  waited  a  while,  hoping 
that  you  would  come  back." 

"You  went  into  the  wood!"  echoed  Madame  Wachner 
in  a  startled  tone.  "You  should  not  have  done  that," 
she  shook  her  head  gravely.  "We  are  forbidden  to  go 
into  the  wood.     We  'ave  never  gone  into  the  wood." 

L'Ami  Fritz  stood  waiting  for  his  visitors  in  the  narrow 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  259 

doorway.     He  looked  more  good-tempered  than  usual, 
and  as  they  walked  in  he  chatted  pleasantly  to  Chester. 

"This  way,"  he  said,  importantly.  "Do  not  trouble 
to  go  into  the  salon,  Madame !  We  shall  have  tea  here, 
of  course." 

And  Sylvia  Bailey  was  amused,  as  well  as  rather 
touched,  to  see  the  preparations  which  had  been  made 
in  the  little  dining-room  for  the  entertainment  of  Bill 
Chester  and  of  herself. 

In  the  middle  of  the  round  table  which  had  looked  so 
bare  yesterday  was  a  bowl  of  white  roses — roses  that 
had  never  grown  in  the  untidy  garden  outside.  Two 
dessert  dishes  were  heaped  up  with  delicious  cakes — the 
cakes  for  which  French  pastrycooks  are  justly  famed. 
There  was  also  a  basin  full  of  the  Alpine  strawberries 
which  Sylvia  loved,  and  of  which  she  always  ordered  a 
goodly  supply  at  the  Villa  du  Lac.  Madame  Wachner 
had  even  remembered  to  provide  the  thick  cream,  which, 
to  a  foreign  taste,  spoils  the  delicate  flavour  of  strawberries. 

They  were  really  very  kind  people,  these  Wachners ! 

Looking  round  the  funny  little  dining-room,  Sylvia 
could  not  help  remembering  how  uncomfortable  she  had 
felt  when  sitting  there  alone  the  day  before.  It  was  hard  ♦ 
now  to  believe  that  she  should  have  had  that  queer,  eerie 
feehng  of  discomfort  and  disquietude  in  such  a  common- 
place, cheerful  room.  She  told  herself  that  there  prob- 
ably had  been  some  little  creature"  hidden  there — some 
shy,  wild  thing,  which  maybe  had  crept  in  out  of  the  wood. 

"And  now  I  will  go  and  make  the  tea."  said  Madame 
Wachner  pleasantly,  and  Sylvia  gaily  insisted  on  accom- 
panying her  hostess  into  the  kitchen. 


260        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

"We  shall  'ave  a  nicer  tea  than  that  first  time  we 
made  tea  'ere  together,"  said  INIadame  Wachner  jovially. 

The  young  Englishwoman  shook  her  head,  smiling. 

"I  had  a  very  good  time  that  afternoon!"  she  cried. 
"And  I  shall  always  feel  grateful  for  your  kindness  to 
me  and  to  poor  Anna,  ]\Iadame  Wachner.  I  do  so  often 
wonder  what  Anna  is  doing  with  herself,  and  where  she 
is  staying  in  Paris."  She  looked  wistfully  at  her  com- 
panion. 

Madame  W^achner  was  in  the  act  of  pouring  the  boil- 
ing water  into  her  china  teapot. 

"Ah,  well,"  she  said,  bending  over  it,  "we  shall  never 
know  that.  Your  friend  was  a  strange  person,  what  I 
call  a  solitaire.  She  did  not  like  gambling  when  there 
were  people  whom  she  knew  in  the  Baccarat  Room  with 
her.  As  to  what  she  is  doing  now — "  she  shrugged  her 
shoulders,  expressively. 

"You  know  she  telegraphed  for  her  luggage  yester- 
day?" said  Sylvia  slowly. 

"In  that  case — if  it  has  had  time  to  arrive — Madame 

Wolsky  is  probably  on  her  way  to  Aix,  perhaps  even  to 

Monte  Carlo.     She  did  not  seem  to  mind  whether  it 

•  was  hot  or  cold  if  she  could  get  what  she  wanted — that 

is,  Play " 

Madame  Wachner  had  now  made  the  tea.  She  turned 
and  stood  with  arms  akimbo,  staring  out  of  the  little 
window  which  gave  on  the  sun-baked  lawn  bounded  by 
the  chestnut  wood. 

"No,"  she  said  slowly,  "  I  do  not  for  a  moment  suppose 
that  you  will  ever  see  Madame  Wolsky  again.  It  would 
surprise  me  very  much  if  you  were  to  do  so.     For  one 


THE   CHINK  IN   THE   ARMOUR  261 

thing,  she  must  be — well,  rather  ashamed  of  the  way  she 
treated  you — you  who  were  so  kind  to  her,  Sylvie!" 

"She  was  far  kinder  to  me  than  I  was  to  her," said 
Sylvia  in  a  low  voice. 

"Ah,  my  dear" —  Madame  Wachner  put  her  fat  hand 
on  Sylvia's  shoulder — "you  have  such  a  kind,  warm, 
generous  heart — that  is  the  truth!  No,  no,  Anna  Wol- 
sky  was  not  able  to  appreciate  such  a  friend  as  you  are! 
But  now  the  tea  is  made,  made  strong  to  the  English 
taste,  we  must  not  leave  L'Ami  Fritz  and  Mr.  Chester 
alone  together.     Gentleman  are  dull  without  ladies." 

Carrying  the  teapot  she  led  the  way  into  the  dining- 
room,  and  they  sat  down  round  the  table. 

The  little  tea-party  went  off  fairly  well,  but  Chester 
could  not  forget  his  strange  conversation  with  Sylvia  in 
the  motor.  Somehow,  he  and  she  had  never  come  so 
really  near  to  one  another  as  they  had  done  that  after- 
noon. And  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  he  felt  that  she  was 
quite  unlike  what  he  had  thought  her  to  be.  It  was  as 
if  he  had  come  across  a  new  Sylvia. 

Madame  Wachner,  looking  at  his  grave,  absorbed  face, 
felt  uneasy.  Was  it  possible  that  this  Englishman  in- 
tended to  take  pretty  Mrs.  Bailey  away  from  Lacville? 
That  would  be  a  pit\ — a  very  great  pity! 

She  glanced  apprehensively  at  her  husband.  L'Ami 
Fritz  would  make  himself  very  unpleasant  if  Sylvia  left 
Lacville  just  now.  He  would  certainly  taunt  his  wife 
with  all  the  money  they  had  spent  on  her  entertainment 
—it  was  money  which  they  both  intended  should  bear 
a  very  high  rate  of  interest. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

The  two  following  days  dragged  themselves  unevent- 
fully away.  Sylvia  did  her  best  to  be  kind  to  Bill  Ches- 
ter, but  she  felt  ill  at  ease,  and  could  not  help  showing  it. 

And  then  she  missed  the  excitement  and  interest  of 
the  Casino.  Bill  had  not  suggested  that  they  should  go 
there,  and  she  would  not  be  the  one  to  do  so. 

The  long  motoring  expeditions  they  took  each  after- 
noon gave  her  no  pleasure.  Her  heart  was  far  away,  in 
Brittany;  in  imagination  she  was  standing  by  a  grave, 
surrounded  by  a  shadowy  group  of  men  and  women, 
mourning  the  old  Marquise  who  had  left  Count  Paul  the 
means  to  become  once  more  a  self-respecting  and  respected 
member  of  the  world  to  wliich  he  belonged  by  right  of 
birth.  .  .  . 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  Wachners,  these  two  daj'S  of 
dual  solitude  with  Chester  would  have  been  dreary  in- 
deed, but  Madame  Wachner  was  their  companion  on 
more  than  one  long  excursion  and  wherever  Madame 
Wachner  went  there  reigned  a  kind  of  jollity  and  sense 
of  cheer. 

Sylvia  wondered  if  the  Comte  de  Mrieu  was  indeed 
coming  back  as  he  had  said  he  would  do.  And  yet  she 
knew  that  were  he  to  return  now,  at  once,  to  his  old 
ways,  his  family,  those  who  loved  him,  would  have  the 
right  to  think  him  incorrigible. 

As  is  the  way  with  a  woman  when  she  loves,  Sylvia 

262 


THE   CHINK  IX  THE   ARMOUR  263 

did  not  consider  herself  as  a  factor  afifecting  his  return 
to  Lacville.  Nay,  she  was  bitterly  hurt  that  he  had  not 
written  her  a  Hne  since  he  had  left. 

And  now  had  come  the  evening  of  the  day  when  Count 
Paul  had  meant  to  come  back.  But  M.  Polperro  said 
no  word  of  his  return.  Still,  it  was  quite  possible  that  he 
would  arrive  late,  and  Sylvia  did  not  wish  to  sec  him 
when  in  the  company,  not  only  of  Bill  Chester,  but  also 
of  the  Wachners. 

Somehow  or  other,  she  had  fallen  into  the  habit  each 
evening  of  asking  the  Wachners  to  dinner.  She  did  so 
to-day,  but  suggested  dining  at  a  restaurant. 

"Yes,  if  this  time,  dear  Sylvia,  the  host  is  L'Ami 
Fritz!"  said  Madame  Wachner  decidedly.  And  after  a 
slight  demur  Sylvia  consented. 

They  dined  at  the  hotel  which  is  just  opposite  the 
Casino.  After  the  pleasant  meal  was  over,  for  it  had 
been  pleasant,  and  the  cheerful  hostess  had  taken  special 
pains  over  the  menu,  Sylvia  weary  at  the  thought  of 
another  long,  dull  evening  in  the  dra^^ng-room  of  the 
Villa  du  Lac,  was  secretly  pleased  to  hear  Madame 
Wachner  exclaim  coaxingly: 

"And  now,  I  do  'ope,  Mr.  Chester,  that  you  will  come 
over  and  spend  this  evening  at  the  Casino!  I  know  you 
do  not  approve  of  the  play  that  goes  on  there,  but  still, 
believe  me,  it  is  the  only  thing  to  do  at  Lacville.  Lacville 
would  be  a  very  dull  place  were  it  not  for  the  Casino!" 

Chester  smiled. 

"You  think  me  far  more  particular  than  I  am  really," 
he  said,  lightly.  "  I  don't  in  the  least  mind  going  to  the 
Casino."    Why  should   he  be   a  spoil-sport?     "But   I 


264  THE   CHINK   IX  THE   ARiMOUR 

confess  I  cannot  understand  the  kind  of  attraction  play 
has  for  some  minds.  For  instance,  I  cannot  understand 
the  extraordinary  fascination  it  seems  to  exercise  over 
such  an  intelligent  man  as  is  that  Comte  de  Virieu." 

Madame  Wachner  looked  at  the  speaker  significantly. 

"Ah!"  she  said.  "The  poor  Count!  'E  is  what  you 
call  'confirmed' — a  confirmed  gambler.  And  'e  will 
now  be  able  to  play  more  than  ever,  for  I  'ear  a  fortune 
'as  been  left  to  'im!" 

Sylvia  was  startled.  She  wondered  how  the  Wachners 
could  have  come  to  know  of  the  Count's  legacy.  She 
got  up,  with  a  nervous,  impatient  gesture. 

How  dull,  how  long,  how  intolerable  had  been  the  last 
two  days  spent  by  her  in  the  company  of  Bill  Chester, 
varied  by  that  of  talkative  ]\Iadame  Wachner  and  the 
silent,  dour  Ami  Fritz ! 

Her  heart  felt  very  sore.  During  that  last  hour  she 
and  Count  Paul  had  spent  together  in  the  garden,  she 
had  begged  him  to  stay  away — to  spend  the  rest  of  the 
summer  with  his  sister.  Supposing  he  took  her  at  her 
word — supposing  he  never  came  back  to  Lacville  at  all? 
Sylvia  tried  to  tell  herself  that  in  that  case  she  would  be 
glad,  and  that  she  only  wanted  her  friend  to  do  the  best, 
the  wisest  thing  for  himself. 

Such  were  her  thoughts — her  painful  thoughts — as  she 
walked  across  from  the  restaurant  to  the  entrance  of  the 
Casino.  Two  whole  days  had  gone  by  since  she  had 
been  there  last,  and  oh !  how  long  each  hour  of  those  days 
had  seemed! 

The  two  oddly-assorted  couples  passed  through  Into  the 
hall,  and  so  up  to  the  closely-guarded  doors  of  the  Club. 


THE   CHINK   IX  THE   ARMOUR  265 

The  Baccarat  Room  was  ver^-  full,  fuller  than  usual, 
for  several  parties  of  merry,  rather  boisterous  young  men 
had  come  out  from  Paris  to  spend  the  evening. 

She  heard  the  words  that  were  now  so  familiar, solemnly 
shouted  out  at  the  further  table:  *^La  Banque  est  aux 
encheres.     Qui  prend  la  Banque  f" 

There  was  a  pause,  and  there  fell  on  Sylvia's  ears  the 
murmur  of  two  voices — the  voice  of  the  official  who 
represented  the  Casino  authorities,  and  the  deep,  low 
voice  which  had  become  so  dear  to  her — which  thrilled 
her  heart  each  time  she  heard  it. 

Then  Count  Paul  had  come  back?  He  had  not  fol- 
lowed her  advice?  And  instead  of  being  sorry,  as  she 
ought  to  have  been,  she  was  glad — glad!  Not  glad  to 
know  that  he  was  here  in  the  Casino — Sylvia  was  sorry 
for  that — but  glad  that  he  was  once  more  close  to  her. 
Till  this  moment  she  had  scarcely  realised  how  much  his 
mere  presence  meant  to  her. 

She  could  not  see  Paul  de  Virieu,  for  there  was  a  crowd 
— a  noisy,  chattering  crowd  of  over-dressed  men,  each 
with  a  gaudily-dressed  feminine  companion — encompas- 
sing her  on  every  side. 

"  Vingt  mille  francs  en  Banque!  Une  foir,  deux  fois, 
messieurs  ?  "  A  pause — then  the  words  repeated.  "  Vingt 
mille  francs  en  Banque!" 

Monsieur  Wachner  leant  his  tall,  lean  form  over 
Sylvia.  She  looked  up  surprised,  L'Ami  Fritz  very 
seldom  spoke  to  her,  or  for  the  matter  of  that  to  anyone. 

"You  must  play  to-night,  Madame!"  he  said  imperi- 
ously. "  I  have  a  feeling  that  to-night  you  will  bring  us 
luck,  as  you  did  that  first  time  you  played." 


266  THE   CHINK    IN  THE   ARMOUR 

She  looked  at  him  hesitatingly.  His  words  made  her 
remember  the  friend  to  whom  she  so  seldom  gave  a 
thought  nowadays. 

"Do  you  remember  how  pleased  poor  Anna  was  that 
night?"  she  whispered. 

Monsieur  Wachner  stared  at  her,  and  a  look  of  fear, 
almost  of  terror,  came  over  his  drawn,  hatchet  face. 

"Do  not  speak  of  her,"  he  exclaimed  harshly.  "It 
might  bring  us  ill-luck!" 

And  then  Chester  broke  in,  "Syhaa,  do  play  if  you 
want  to  play!"  he  cried  rather  impatiently.  It  angered 
him  to  feel  that  she  would  not  do  in  his  presence 
what  she  would  most  certainly  have  done  were  he  not 
there. 

And  then  Sylvia  suddenly  made  up  her  mind  that  she 
would  play.  Count  Paul  was  holding  the  Bank.  He 
was  risking — how  much  was  it? — twenty  thousand  francs. 
Eight  hundred  pounds  of  his  legacy?  That  was  mad- 
ness, absolute  madness  on  his  part!  Well,  she  would 
gamble  too!  There  came  across  her  a  curious  feeling — 
one  that  gave  her  a  certain  painful  joy — the  feeling  that 
they  two  were  one.  While  he  was  risking  his  money, 
she  would  try  to  win  his  money.  Were  he  in  luck  to-night, 
she  would  be  glad  to  know  that  it  would  be  her  money 
he  would  win. 

M.  Wachner  oflBciously  made  room  for  her  at  the 
table;  and,  as  she  sat  down,  the  Comte  de  Virieu,  look- 
ing round,  saw  who  had  come  there,  and  he  flushed  and 
looked  away,  straight  in  front  of  him. 

*A  Madame  la  main"  said  Monsieur  Wachner  eagerly 
indicating    Sylvia.     And    the    croupier,    with    a    smile. 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  207 

pushed  the  two  fateful  cards  towards  the  fair  young 
Englishwoman. 

Sylvia  took  up  the  two  cards.  She  glanced  down  at 
them.  Yes,  L'Ami  Fritz  had  been  right.  She  was  in  luck 
to-night!  In  a  low  voice  she  uttered  the  welcome  words 
— in  French,  of  course — the  words  "Nine"  and  "The 
King,"  as  she  put  the  cards,  face  upwards,  on  the  green 
cloth. 

And  then  there  came  for  her  and  for  those  who  backed 
her,  just  as  there  had  done  on  that  first  fateful  evening 
at  the  Casino,  an  extraordinary  run  of  good  fortune. 

Again  and  again  the  cards  were  dealt  to  Sylvia,  and 
again  and  again  she  turned  up  a  Nine,  a  Queen,  a  King, 

an  Eight .     Once  more  the  crowd  excitedly  followed 

her  luck,  staring  at  her  with  grateful  pleasure,  with  fas- 
cinated interest,  as  she  brought  them  temporary  wealth. 

The  more  she  won,  the  more  she  made  other  people 
win,  the  more  miserable  Sylvia  felt,  and  as  she  saw  Count 
Paul's  heap  of  notes  and  gold  diminishing,  she  grew  un- 
utterably wretched.  Eight  hundred  pounds?  What  an 
enormous  lot  of  money  to  risk  in  an  evening! 

Then  there  came  a  change.  For  a  few  turns  of  the 
game  luck  deserted  her,  and  Sylvia  breathed  more  freely. 
She  glanced  up  into  Count  Paul's  impassive  face.  He 
looked  worn  and  tired,  as  well  he  might  be  after  his  long 
journey  from  Brittany. 

Then  once  more  magic  fortune  came  back.  It  seemed 
as  if  only  good  cards — variations  on  the  fateful  eights 
and  nines — could  be  dealt  her. 

Suddenly  she  pushed  her  chair  back  and  got  up.  Pro- 
testing murmurs  rose  on  every  side. 


268  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

""If  Madame  leaves,  the  luck  will  go  with  her!"  she 
heard  one  or  two  people  murmur  discontentedly. 

Chester  was  looking  at  her  with  amused,  sarcastic,  dis- 
approving eyes. 

"Well!"  he  exclaimed.     "I  don't  wonder  you  enjoy 
gambling,  Sylvia!    Are  you  often  taken  this  way?    How 
much  of  that  poor  fellow's  money  have  you  won?" 
^  "Ninety  pounds,"  she  answered  mechanically. 

"Ninety  pounds!  And  have  you  ever  lost  as  much  as 
that,  may  I  ask,  in  an  evening?"  he  was  still  speaking 
with  a  good  deal  of  sarcasm  in  his  voice.  But  still, 
"money  talks,"  and  even  against  his  will  Chester  was 
impressed.  Ninety  pounds  represents  a  very  heavy  bill 
of  costs  in  a  country  solicitor's  practice, 
j   Sylvia  looked  dully  into  his  face. 

"No,"  she  said  slowly.  "No,  the  most  I  ever  lost  in 
one  evening  was  ten  pounds.  I  always  left  off  playing 
when  I  had  lost  ten  pounds.  That  is  the  one  advantage 
the  player  has  over  the  banker — he  can  stop  playing 
when  he  has  lost  a  small  sum." 
^    "Oh!    I  see!"  exclaimed  Chester  drily. 

And  then  they  became  silent,  for  close  by  where  they 
now  stood,  a  Uttle  apart  from  the  table,  an  angry  alterca- 
tion was  going  on  between  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Wachner.  It  was  the  first  time  Sylvia  had  ever  heard 
the  u-orthy  couple  quarrelUng  in  public  the  one  with  the 
other. 

"I  tell  you  I  will  not  go  away!"  L'Ami  Fritz  was  say- 
ing between  his  teeth.  "I  feel  that  to-night  I  am  in 
luck,  in  great  luck!  What  I  ask  you  to  do,  Sophie,  is  to 
go  away  yourself,  and  leave  me  alone.    I  have  made  a 


THE   CHINK    IN   THE   ARMOUR  269 

thousand  francs  this  evening,  and  at  last  I  ha\e  an  op- 
portunity of  trying  my  new  system.  I  am  determined 
to  try  it  now,  to-night!  No — it  is  no  use  your  speak- 
ing to  me,  no  use  reminding  me  of  any  promise  I 
made  to  you.  If  I  made  such  a  promise,  I  mean  to 
break  it!" 

Sylvia  looked  round,  a  good  deal  concerned.  Madame 
Wachner's  face  was  red,  and  she  was  plainly  very  angry 
and  put  out.  But  when  she  saw  that  she  and  her  hus- 
band had  attracted  the  attention  of  their  English  friends, 
she  made  a  great  effort  to  regain  her  self-control  and 
good  humour. 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  "Very  well,  Fritz!  Do  not 
speak  to  me  as  if  I  were  an  ogress  or  a  dragon.  I  am 
your  wife;  it  is  my  duty  to  obey  you.  But  I  will  not 
stay  to  see  you  lose  the  good  money  you  have  made 
with  the  help  of  our  land  friend,  Madame  Sylvia.  Yes, 
I  will  go  away  and  leave  you,  my  poor  Fritz." 

And  suiting  her  action  to  her  words,  she  put  her  arm 
familiarly  through  Sylvia's  and  together  they  walked 
out  of  the  Baccarat  Room,  followed  by  Chester. 

When  they  were  in  the  vestibule  Madame  Wachncr 
turned  to  him  with  a  rueful  smile: 

"It  is  a  pity,"  she  said,  "that  Fritz  did  not  come  away 
with  us!  'E  'as  made  a  thousand  francs.  It  is  a  great 
deal  of  money  for  us  to  make — or  to  lose.  I  do  not 
beUeve  'e  will  keep  it,  for,  though  you  bring  'im  luck, 
my  dear"— she  turned  to  Sylvia — "that  Count  always 
brings  'im  bad  luck.  It  'as  been  proved  to  me  again 
and  again.  Just  before  you  arrived  at  Lacville  with 
poor  Madame  Wolsky,  Fritz  'ad  a  'eavy  loss!— a  \ery 


270  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

*eavy  loss,  and  all  because  the  Comte  de  Virieu  'eld  the 
Bank!" 

"Perhaps  the  Count  will  not  hold  the  Bank  again 
to-night,"  said  Sylvia  slowly. 

"Of  course,  'e  will  do  so!"  the  other  spoke  quite  crossly. 
"Did  I  not  tell  you,  Sylvia,  that  our  day  servant  heard 
from  M.  Polperro's  wife,  whose  sister  is  cook  to  the 
Duchesse  d'Eglemont,  that  the  Comte  de  Virieu  'as  been 
left  an  immense  fortune  by  'is  godmother?  Well,  it  is  a 
fortune  that  will  soon  melt" — she  chuckled,  as  if  the 
thought  was  very  pleasant  to  her.  "But  I  do  not  think 
that  any  of  it  is  likely  to  melt  into  Fritz's  pocket — 
though,  to  be  sure,  we  'ave  been  very  lucky,  all  of  us, 
to-night,"  she  looked  affectionately  at  Sylvia. 

"  Even  you,  Sir" — Madame  Wachner  turned  to  Chester 
with  a  broad  smile — "even  you  must  be  pleased  that  we 
came  to  the  Casino  to-night.  ^Vllat  a  pity  it  is  you  did 
not  risk  something!  Even  one  pound!  You  might  'ave 
made  quite  a  nice  lot  of  money  to  take  back  to  England 
with  you " 

" Or  to  spend  in  Switzerland!"  said  Chester,  laugh- 


ing. "It  is  to  Switzerland  I  am  going,  Madame!  I 
shall  leave  here  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"And  will  you  not  come  back  again?"  asked  Madame 
Wachner  inquisitively. 

"I  may  come  back  again  if  Mrs.  Bailey  is  still  here; 
but  I  do  not  suppose  she  will  be,  for  I  intend  to  spend  at 
least  a  fortnight  in  Switzerland." 

The  three  were  now  approaching  the  gates  of  the  Villa 
du  Lac. 

"Well,  Sylvia,"   cried   Chester.     "I  suppose  I   must 


THE    CHINK   IN   THE   AIIMOUR  271 

now  say  good-night?  I  do  not  envy  you  your  ill-gotten 
gains!"  He  spoke  lightly,  but  there  was  an  undercurrent 
of  reproach  in  his  voice,  or  so  Sylvia  fancied. 

"Good-night!"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  tremulous. 

As  she  held  out  her  hand  the  little  fancy  bag  which 
held  all  her  winnings,  the  bundle  of  notes  and  loose  pieces 
of  gold,  fell  to  the  ground. 

Madame  Wachner  stooped  down  and  picked  it  up. 
"How  'eavy  it  is!"  she  exclaimed  enviously.  "Good 
gracious,  Sylvia!  What  a  lot  you  must  'ave  made 
to-night?" 

"And  the  notes  don't  weigh  much,"  said  Sylvia.  "  It's 
only  the  gold  that  is  heavy!" 

But  she  was  not  thinking  of  what  she  was  saying.  Her 
heart  was  full  of  anguish.  How  could  Paul  de  Virieu 
have  been  so  mad  as  to  risk  such  an  immense  sum,  a 
tenth  part  of  the  fortune — for  fortune  it  was — which  had 
just  been  left,  to  him? 

Sylvia  hated  herself  for  having  contributed  to  hl3 
losses.  She  knew  that  it  was  absurd  that  she  should  feel 
this,  for  the  same  cards  would  certainly  have  been  dealt 
to  whoever  had  happened  to  take  them  from  the  croupier. 
But  still,  superstition  is  part  of  the  virus  which  fills  the 
gambler's  blood,  and  she  had  certainly  won  a  consider- 
able part  of  the  money  Count  Paul  had  lost  to-night. 

"May  I  see  you  back  to  your  house?"  asked  Chester 
of  Madame  Wachner. 

"Oh  no,  Monsieur,  I  must  go  back  to  the  Casino  and 
look  after  Fritz!  'E  is  a  child — quite  a  child  as  regards 
money."  Madame  Wachner  sighed  heavily.  "No,  no, 
you  go  'ome  to  bed  in  the  Pension  Malfait." 


272  THE   CHINK   IX  THE   ARMOUU 

"I  shouldn't  think  of  doing  such  a  thing!"  he  said 
kindly.  "  I  will  come  back  with  you  to  the  Casino,  and 
together  we  will  persuade  Monsieur  Wachner  to  go  home. 
He  has  had  time  to  make  or  lose  a  good  deal  of  money 
in  the  last  few  minutes," 

"Yes,  indeed  he  'as "  again  Madame  Wachner 

sighed,  and  Chester's  heart  went  out  to  her.  She  was  a 
really  nice  old  woman — clever  and  intelligent,  as  well  as 
cheerful  and  brave.  It  seemed  a  great  pity  that  she 
should  be  cursed  with  a  gambler  for  a  husband. 

As  they  went  back  into  the  Casino  they  could  hear 
the  people  round  them  talking  of  the  Comte  de  Virieu, 
and  of  the  high  play  that  had  gone  on  at  the  club  that 
evening. 

"No,  he  is  winning  now,"  they  heard  someone  say. 
And  ]\Iadame  Wachner  looked  anxious.  If  Count  Paul 
were  winning,  then  her  Fritz  must  be  losing. 

And  alas!  her  fears  were  justified.  When  they  got 
up  into  the  Baccarat  Room  they  found  L'Ami  Fritz 
standing  apart  from  the  tables,  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
staring  abstractedly  out  of  a  dark  window  on  to  the 
lake. 

"Well?"  cried  Madame  Wachner  sharply,  "Well, 
Fritz?" 

"I  have  had  no  luck!"  he  shook  his  head  angrily.  "It 
is  all  the  fault  of  that  cursed  system!  If  I  had  only 
begun  at  the  right,  the  propitious  moment — as  I  should 
ha^'e  done  if  you  had  not  worried  me  and  asked  me  to 
go  away — I  should  probably  have  made  a  great  deal  of 
money,"  he  looked  at  her  disconsolately,  deprecatingly. 

Chester  also  looked  at  Madame  Wachner.     He  ad- 


THE   CHINK   IN   THE   ARMOUR  273 

mired  the  wife's  self-restraint.  Her  red  face  got  a  little 
redder.    That  was  all. 

"It  cannot  be  helped,"  she  said  a  trifle  coldly,  and  in 
French.  "I  knew  how  it  would  be,  so  I  am  not  disap- 
pointed. Have  you  anything  left?  Have  you  got  the 
five  louis  I  gave  you  at  the  beginning  of  the  evening?" 

Monsieur  Wachner  shook  his  head  gloomily. 

"Well  then,  it  is  about  time  we  went  home."  She 
turned  and  led  the  way  out. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

As  Sylvia  went  slowly  and  wearily  up  to  her  room  a 
sudden  horror  of  Lacville  swept  over  her  excited  brain. 

For  the  first  time  since  she  had  been  in  the  Villa  du 
Lac,  she  locked  the  door  of  her  bed  room  and  sat  down 
in  the  darkness. 

She  was  overwhelmed  with  feelings  of  humiliation  and 
pain.  She  told  herself  with  bitter  self-scorn  that  Paul  de 
Virieu  cared  nothing  for  her.  If  he  had  cared  ever  so 
little  he  surely  would  never  have  done  what  he  had  done 
to-night? 

But  such  thoughts  were  futile,  and  soon  she  rose  and 
turned  on  the  electric  light.  Then  she  sat  down  at  a 
little  writing-table  which  had  been  thoughtfully  pro- 
vided for  her  by  M.  Polperro,  and  hurriedly,  with  fever- 
ish eagerness,  wrote  a  note. 

Deab  Count  de  Virieu — 

I  am  very  tired  to-night,  and  I  do  not  feel  as  if  I  should  be  well 
enough  to  ride  to-morrow. — Yours  sincerely, 

Sylvia.  Bailey. 

That  was  all,  but  it  was  enough.  Hitherto  she  had 
evidently  been — hateful  thought — what  the  matrons  of 
Market  Dalling  called  "coming  on"  in  her  manner  to 
Count  Paul;  henceforth  she  would  be  cold  and  distant 
to  him. 

274 


THE   CIIIXK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  275 

She  put  her  note  into  an  envelope,  addressed  it,  and 
went  downstairs  again.  It  was  very  late,  but  M.  Polperro 
was  still  up.  The  landlord  never  went  to  bed  till  each 
one  of  his  clients  was  safe  indoors. 

"Will  you  kindly  see  that  the  Comte  de  Virieu  gets 
this  to-night?"  she  said  briefly.  And  then,  as  the  little 
man  looked  at  her  with  some  surprise,  "It  is  to  tell  the 
Count  that  I  cannot  ride  to-morrow  morning.  It  is  late, 
and  I  am  very  tired;  sleepy,  too,  after  the  long  motoring 
expedition  I  took  this  afternoon!"     She  tried  to  smile. 

]\I.  Polperro  bowed. 

"  Certainly,  Madame.  The  Count  shall  have  this  note 
the  moment  he  returns  from  the  Casino.  lie  will  not  be 
long  now." 

But  the  promises  of  Southerners  are  pie-crust.  Doubt- 
less M.  Polperro  meant  the  Count  to  have  the  note  that 
night,  but  he  put  it  aside  and  forgot  all  about  it. 

Sylvia  had  a  broken  night,  and  she  was  still  sleeping 
heavily  when  she  was  wakened  by  the  now  familiar 
sound  of  the  horses  being  brought  into  the  courtyard. 
She  jumped  out  of  bed  and  peeped  through  an  opening 
in  the  closed  curtains. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning.  The  waters  of  the  lake 
dimpled  in  the  sun.  A  door  opened,  and  Sylvia  heard 
voices.  Then  Count  Paul  was  going  riding  after  all,  and 
by  himself?  Sylvia  felt  a  pang  of  unreasoning  anger  and 
regret. 

Paul  de  Virieu  and  jNI.  Polperro  were  standing  side  by 
side;  suddenly  she  saw  the  hotel-keeper  hand  the  Count, 
with  a  gesture  of  excuse,  the  note  she  had  written  the 
night  before.    Count  Paul  read  it  through,  then  he  put 


276        THE  CHIXK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

it  back  in  its  envelope,  and  placed  it  in  the  breast  pocket 
of  his  coat. 

He  did  not  send  the  horses  away,  as  Sylvia  in  her  heart 
had  rather  hoped  he  would  do,  but  he  said  a  word  to 
]\I.  Polperro,  who  ran  into  the  Villa  and  returned  a  moment 
later  with  something  which  he  handed,  with  a  deferential 
bow  to  the  Count. 

It  was  a  cardcase,  and  Paul  de  Virieu  scribbled  some- 
thing on  a  card  and  gave  it  to  ]\I.  Polperro.  A  minute 
later  he  had  ridden  out  of  the  gates. 

Sylvia  moved  away  from  the  window,  but  she  was  in 
no  mood  to  go  back  to  bed.  She  felt  restless,  excited, 
sorry  that  she  had  given  up  her  ride. 

^^^len  at  last  her  tea  was  brought  in,  she  saw  the 
Count's  card  lying  on  the  tray: 

!Madame — 

I  regret  very  much  to  hear  that  you  are  not  well — so  ran 
his  p)encilled  words — but  I  trust  you  will  be  able  to  come  down 
this  morning,  for  I  have  a  message  to  give  you  from  my  sister. 

Believe  me,  Madame,  of  all  your  servants  the  most  devoted. 

Paul  de  Virieu. 

They  met  in  the  garden — the  garden  which  they  had 
so  often  had  to  themselves  during  their  short  happy 
mornings;  and,  guided  by  an  instinctive  longing  for 
solitude,  and  for  being  out  of  sight  and  out  of  mind  of 
those  about  them,  they  made  their  way  towards  the  arch 
in  the  wall  which  led  to  the  potager. 

It  was  just  ten  o'clock,  and  the  gardeners  were  leaving 
off  work  for  an  hour;  they  had  earned  their  rest,  for 
their  work  begins  each  summer  day  at  sunrise.     It  was 


THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  277 

therefore  through  a  sweet-smelling,  solitary  wilderness 
that  Count  Paul  guided  his  companion. 

They  walked  along  the  narrow  paths  edged  with 
fragrant  herbs  till  they  came  to  the  extreme  end  of  the 
kitchen-garden,  and  then 

"Shall  we  go  into  the  orangery?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

Sylvia  nodded.  These  were  the  first  words  he  had  ut- 
tered since  his  short  "Good  morning.  I  hope,  ISIadame, 
you  are  feeling  better?" 

He  stepped  aside  to  allow  her  to  go  first  into  the  large, 
finely-proportioned  building,  which  was  so  charming  a 
survival  of  eighteenth-century  taste.  The  orangery  was 
cool,  fragrant,  deserted;  .remote  indeed  from  all  that 
Lacville  stands  for  in  this  ugly,  utilitarian  world. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  he  said  slowly.  And  then,  as 
if  echoing  his  companion's  thoughts, "It  seems  a  long,  long 
time  since  we  were  first  in  the  orangery,  Madame " 

" When  you  asked  me  so  earnestly  to  leave  Lac- 


ville," said  Sylvia,  trying  to  speak  lightly.  She  sat  dowa 
on  the  circular  stone  seat,  and,  as  he  had  done  on  that 
remembered  morning  when  they  were  still  strangers,  he 
took  his  place  at  the  other  end  of  it. 

"Well?"  he  said,  looking  at  her  fixedly.    "Well,  you 
see  I  came  back  after  all!" 

Sylvia  made  no  answer. 

"I  ought  not  to  have  done  so.    It  was  weak  of  me." 
He  did  not  look  at  her  as  he  spoke;    he  was  tracing 
imaginary  patterns  on  the  stone  floor. 

"I  came  back,"  he  concluded,  in  a  low,  bitter  tone, 
"because  I  could  not  stay  any  longer  away  from  you.". 

And  still  Svlvia  remained  silent. 


278  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

"Do  you  not  believe  that?"  he  asked,  rather  roughly. 

And  then  at  last  she  looked  up  and  spoke. 

"I  think  you  imagine  that  to  be  the  case,"  she  said, 
"but  I  am  sure  that  it  is  not  I,  alone,  who  brought  you 
back  to  Lacville." 

"And  yet  it  is  you — you  alone!"  he  exclaimed  and  he 
jumped  up  and  came  and  stood  before  her. 

"God  knows  I  do  not  wish  to  deceive  you.  Perhaps, 
if  I  had  not  come  back  here,  I  should  in  time — not  at 
once,  Madame, — have  gone  somewhere  else,  where  I 
could  enjoy  the  only  thing  in  life  which  had  come  to  be 
worth  while  living  for.  But  it  was  you — you  alone — 
that  brought  me  back  here,  to  Lacxille!" 

"Wliy  did  you  go  straight  to  the  Casino?"  she  fal- 
tered. "And  why? — oh,  why  did  you  risk  all  that 
money?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Because  I  am  a  fool!"  he  answered,  bitterly — "a 
fool,  and  what  the  English  rightly  call  *a  dog  in  the 
manger!'  I  ought  to  rejoice  when  I  see  you  with  that 
excellent  fellow,  INIr.  Chester — and  as  your  friend,"  he 
stopped  short  and  then  ended  his  sentence  with  the 
words,  "  I  ought  to  be  happy  to  know  that  you  will  have 
so  excellent  a  husband!" 

Sylvia  also  got  up. 

"You  are  quite  mistaken,"  she  said,  coldly.  "I  shall 
never  marry  Mr.  Chester." 

"I  regret  to  hear  you  say  that,"  said  Count  Paul,  seri- 
ously. "A  woman  should  not  live  alone,  especially  a 
woman  who  is  young  and  beautiful,  and — and  who  has 
money." 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  279 

Sylvia  shook  her  head.  She  was  angry — more  hurt 
and  angry  than  she  had  ever  felt  before  in  her  hfe.  She 
told  herself  passionately  that  the  Comte  de  Virieu  was 
refusing  that  which  had  not  been  offered  to  him. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  she  answered,  lightly.  "But  I 
have  managed  very  well  up  to  now,  and  I  think  I  shall 
go  on  managing  very  well.  You  need  not  trouble  your- 
self about  the  matter,  Count  Paul.  Mr.  Chester  and  I 
thoroughly  understand  one  another — "  She  waited,  and 
gently  she  added,  "I  wish  I  could  understand  you " 

"  I  wish  I  understood  myself,"  he  said  sombrely.  "  But 
there  is  one  thing  that  I  believe  myself  incapable  of 
doing.  Whatever  my  feeling,  nay,  whatever  my  love, 
for  a  woinan,  I  w^ould  never  do  so  infamous  a  thing  as  to 
trj'  and  persuade  her  to  join  her  life  to  mine.  I  know 
too  well  to  what  I  should  be  exposing  her — to  what  pos- 
sible misery,  nay,  to  what  probable  degradation!  After 
all,  a  man  is  free  to  go  to  the  devil  alone — but  he  has  no 
right  to  drag  a  woman  there  with  him!" 

His  voice  had  sunk  to  a  hoarse  whisper,  and  he  was 
gazing  into  Sylvia's  pale  face  with  an  anguished  look  of 
questioning  and  of  pleading  pain. 

"I  think  that  is  true.  Count  Paul."  Sylvia  heard  her- 
self uttering  gently,  composedly,  the  words  which  meant 
at  once  so  much  and  so  little  to  them  both.  "  It  is  a  pity 
that  all  men  do  not  feel  about  this  as  you  do,"  she  con- 
cluded mechanically. 

"I  felt  sure  you  would  agree  with  me,"  he  answered 
slowly. 

"Ought  we  not  to  be  going  back  to  the  villa?  I  am 
expecting  Mr.  Chester  to  lunch,  and  though  I  know  it  is 


280        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

quite  early,  he  has  got  into  the  way,  these  last  few  days, 
of  coming  early." 

Her  words  stung  him  in  his  turn. 

"Stop!"  he  said  roughly.  "Do  not  go  yet,  ISIrs. 
Bailey."  He  muttered  between  his  teeth,  "Mr.  Chester's 
turn  will  come!"  And  then  aloud,  "Is  this  to  be  the  end 
of  everything — the  end  of  our — our  friendship?  I  shall 
leave  Lacville  to-night  for  I  do  not  care  to  stay  on  here 
after  you  have  taunted  me  with  having  come  back  to 
see  you!" 

Sylvia  gave  a  little  cry  of  protest. 

"How  unkind  you  are.  Count  Paul!"  She  still  tried 
to  speak  lightly,  but  the  tears  were  now  rolling  down  her 
cheeks — and  then  in  a  moment  she  found  herseff  in  Paul 
de  Virieu's  arms.  She  felt  his  heart  beating  against  her 
breast. 

"Oh,  my  darling!"  he  whispered  brokenly,  in  French, 
"my  darling,  how  I  love  you!" 

"But  if  you  love  me,"  she  said  piteously,  "what  does 
anything  else  matter?" 

Her  hand  had  sought  his  hand.  He  grasped  it  for  a 
moment  and  then  let  it  go. 

"It  is  because  I  love  you — because  I  love  you  more 
than  I  love  myself  that  I  give  you  up,"  he  said,  but, 
being  human,  he  did  not  give  her  up  there  and  then. 
Instead,  he  drew  her  closer  to  him,  and  his  lips  sought 
and  found  her  sweet,  tremulous  mouth. 

And  Chester?  Chester  that  morning  for  the  first  time 
in  his  well-balanced  life  felt  not  only  ill  but  horribly  de- 
pressed.   He  had  come  back  to  the  Pension  Malfait  the 


THE   CHINK   LV  THE    ARMOUR  281 

night  before  feeling  quite  well,  and  as  cheerful  as  his 
disapproval  of  Sylvia  Bailey's  proceedings  at  the  Casino 
allowed  him  to  be.  And  while  thoroughly  disapproving, 
he  had  yet — such  being  human  nature — been  glad  that 
Sylvia  had  won  and  not  lost  I 

The  Wachners  had  offered  to  drive  him  back  to  his 
pension,  and  he  had  accepted,  for  it  was  very  late,  and 
Madame  Wachner,  in  spite  of  her  Fritz's  losses,  had  in- 
sisted on  taking  a  carriage  home. 

And  then,  though  he  had  begun  by  going  to  sleep, 
Chester  had  waked  at  the  end  of  an  hour  to  feel  himself 
encompassed,  environed,  oppressed  by  the  perception — 
it  was  far  more  than  a  sensation — that  he  was  no  longer 
alone. 

He  sat  up  in  bed  and  struck  a  match,  at  once  longing 
and  fearing  to  see  a  form, — the  semblance  of  a  human 
being  — rise  out  of  the  darkness. 

But  all  he  saw,  when  he  had  lighted  the  candle  which 
stood  on  the  table  by  his  bed,  was  the  barely  furnished 
room  which,  even  in  this  poor  and  wavering  light,  had 
so  cheerful  and  commonplace  an  appearance. 

Owing  no  doubt  to  his  excellent  physical  condition,  as 
well  as  to  his  good  conscience,  Chester  was  a  fearless 
man.  A  week  ago  he  would  have  laughed  to  scorn  the 
notion  that  the  dead  ever  revisit  the  earth,  as  so  many 
of  us  believe  they  do,  but  the  four  nights  he  had  spent 
at  the  Pension  Malfait,  had  shaken  his  conviction  that 
"dead  men  rise  up  never." 

Most  reluctantly  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  Pension  Malfait  was  haunted. 

And  the  feeling  of  unease  did  not  vanish  even  after 


282  THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR 

he  had  taken  his  bath  in  the  queer  bath-room,  of  which 
the  Malfaits  were  so  proud,  or  hiter,  when  he  had  eaten 
the  excellent  breakfast  provided  for  him.  On  the  con- 
trary, the  thought  of  going  up  to  his  bed-room,  even 
in  broad  dayUght,  filled  him  with  a  Idnd  of  shrinking 
fear. 

He  told  himself  angrily  that  this  kind  of  thing  could 
not  go  on.  The  sleepless  nights  made  him  ill — he  who 
never  was  ill;  also  he  was  losing  precious  days  of  his 
short  holiday,  while  doing  no  good  to  himself  and  no  good 
to  Sylvia. 

Sending  for  the  hotel-keeper,  he  curtly  told  him  that 
he  meant  to  leave  Lacville  that  evening. 

M.  Malfait  expressed  much  sorrow  and  regret.  Was 
M'sieur  not  comfortable?  Was  there  anything  he  could 
do  to  prolong  his  English  guest's  stay? 

No,  M'sieur  had  every  reason  to  be  satisfied,  but — but 
had  M,  Malfait  ever  had  any  complaints  of  noises  in  the 
bed-room  occupied  by  his  English  guest? 

Tlie  Frenchman's  surprise  and  discomfiture  seemed 
quite  sincere;  but  Chester,  looking  into  his  face,  sus- 
pected that  the  wondering  protests,  the  assertion  that 
this  particular  bed-room  was  the  quietest  in  the  house, 
were  not  sincere.  In  this,  however  he  wronged  poor 
:\L  Malfait. 

Chester  went  upstairs  and  packed.  There  seemed  to 
be  a  kind  of  finality  in  the  act.  If  she  knew  he  was 
ready  to  start  that  night,  Sylvia  would  not  be  able  to 
persuade  him  to  stay  on,  as  she  probably  would  try  to  do. 

At  the  Villa  du  Lac  he  was  greeted  with,  "Madame 
Bailey  is  in  the  garden  with  the  Comte  de  Virieu" — and 


THE   CETINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  283 

he  thought  he  saw  a  twinkle  in  merry  little  M.  Polperro's 
eyes. 

Poor  Sylvia!  Poor,  foolish,  wilful  Sylvia!  Was  it 
conceivable  that  after  what  she  had  seen  the  night  be- 
fore she  still  liked,  she  still  respected,  that  mad  French 
gambler? 

He  looked  over  the  wide  lawn;  no,  there  was  no  sign 
of  Sylvia  and  the  Count,  Then,  all  at  once,  coming 
through  a  door  which  gave  access,  as  he  knew,  to  tlic 
big  kitchen-garden  of  the  villa,  he  saw  Mrs.  Bailey's 
graceful  figure;  a  few  steps  behind  her  walked  Count  Paul. 

Chester  hurried  towards  them.  How  odd  they  both 
looked — and  how  ill  at  ease!  The  Comte  de  Virieu 
looked  wretched,  preoccupied,  and  gloomy — as  well  he 
might  do,  considering  the  large  sum  of  money  he  had 
lost  last  night.  As  for  Sylvia — yes,  there  could  be  no 
doubt  about  it — she  had  been  crying!  Wlien  she  saw 
Chester  coming  towards  her,  she  instinctively  tilted  her 
garden  hat  over  her  face  to  hide  her  reddened  eyelids. 
He  felt  at  once  sorry  for,  and  angry  with,  her. 

"I  came  early  in  order  to  tell  you,"  he  said  abruptly, 
"that  I  find  I  must  leave  Lacville  to-day!  The  man 
whom  I  am  expecting  to  join  me  in  Switzerland  is  getting 
impatient,  so  I've  given  notice  to  the  Pension  Malfait — 
in  fact,  I've  already  packed." 

Sylvia  gave  him  a  listless  glance,  and  made  no  com- 
ment on  his  news. 

Chester  felt  rather  nettled.  "You,  I  suppose,  will  be 
staying  on  here  for  some  time?"  he  said. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered  in  a  low  voice.  "I 
havftn't  made  up  my  mind  how  long  I  shall  stay  here." 


284  THE   CHTXK  IN  THE   ARMOUR 

"I  also  am  leaving  Lacville,"  said  the  Comte  de 
Virieu. 

And  then,  as  he  saw,  or  fancied  he  saw,  a  satirical  ex- 
pression pass  over  the  Englishman's  face,  he  added 
rather  haughtily: 

"Strange  to  say,  mj^  luck  turned  last  night — I  admit 
I  did  not  deserve  it — and  I  left  off  with  a  good  deal  to 
the  good.  However,  I  feel  I  have  played  enough  for  a 
while,  and,  as  I  have  been  telling  Mrs.  Bailey,  I  think 
it  would  do  me  good  to  go  away.  In  fact" — and  then 
Count  Paid  gave  an  odd  httle  laugh — "I  also  am  going 
to  Switzerland!  In  old  days  I  was  a  member  of  our 
Alpine  Club." 

Chester  made  a  sudden  resolve,  and,  what  was  rare 
in  one  so  constitutionally  prudent,  acted  on  it  at  once. 

"If  you  are  really  going  to  Switzerland,"  he  said 
quietly,  "then  why  should  we  not  travel  together?  I 
meant  to  go  to-night,  but  if  you  prefer  to  wait  till  to- 
morrow. Count,  I  can  alter  my  arrangements." 

The  Comte  de  Virieu  remained  silent  for  what  seemed 
to  the  two  waiting  for  his  answer  a  very  long  time. 

"This  evening  will  suit  me  just  as  well  as  to-morrow," 
he  said  at  last. 

He  did  not  look  at  Sylvia.  He  had  not  looked  her 
way  since  Chester  had  joined  them.  With  a  hand  that 
shook  a  little  he  took  his  cigarette-case  out  of  his  pocket, 
and  held  it  out  to  the  other  man. 

The  die  was  cast.  So  be  it.  Chester,  prig  though  he 
might  be,  was  right  in  his  wish  to  remove  Sylvia  from  his, 
Paul  de  Virieu's,  company.  The  EngUshman  was  more 
right  than  he  would  ever  know. 


THE  CHINK   IN  THE  ARMOUR  285 

How  amazed  Chester  would  have  been  had  he  been 
able  to  see  straight  into  Paul  de  Virieu's  heart!  Had  he 
divined  the  other's  almost  unendurable  temptation  to 
take  Sylvia  Bailey  at  her  word,  to  impose  on  her  pathetic 
ignorance  of  life,  to  allow  her  to  become  a  gambler's 
wife. 

Had  the  woman  he  loved  been  penniless,  the  Comte  de 
Virieu  would  probably  have  yielded  to  the  temptation 
which  now  came  in  the  subtle  garb  of  jealousy — keen, 
poisoned-fanged  jealousy  of  this  fine  looking  young  Eng- 
lishman who  stood  before  them  both. 

Would  Sylvia  ever  cling  to  this  man  as  she  had  clung 
to  him — would  she  ever  allow  Chester  to  kiss  her  as  she 
had  allowed  Paul  to  kiss  her,  and  that  after  he  had  re- 
leased the  hand  she  had  laid  in  his? 

But  alas!  there  are  kisses  and  kisses — clingings  and 
clingings.  Chester,  so  the  Frenchman  with  his  wide  dis- 
illusioned knowledge  of  life  felt  only  too  sure,  would  win 
Sylvia  in  time. 

"Shall  w^e  go  in  and  find  out  the  time  of  the  Swiss 
express?"  he  asked  the  other  man,  "or  perhaps  you  have 
already  decided  on  a  train?" 

"No,  I  haven't  looked  one  out  yet." 

They  strolled  off  together  towards  the  house,  and 
Sylvia  walked  blindly  on  to  the  grass  and  sat  down  on 
one  of  the  rocking-chairs  of  which  M.  Polperro  was  so 
proud. 

She  looked  after  the  two  men  with  a  sense  of  oppressed 
bewilderment.  Then  they  were  both  going  away— both 
going  to  leave  her? 

After  to-day— how  strange,  how  utterly  unnatural  the 


286  THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR 

parting  seemed — she  would  probably  never  see  Paul  de 
Virieu  again. 

The  day  went  like  a  dream — a  fantastic,  unreal  dream. 

Sylvia  did  not  see  Count  Paul  again  alone.  She  and 
Chester  went  a  drive  in  the  afternoon — the  expedition 
had  been  arranged  the  day  before  with  the  Wachners, 
and  there  seemed  no  valid  reason  why  it  should  be  put 
off. 

And  then  Madame  Wachner  with  her  usual  impulsive 
good  nature,  on  hearing  that  both  Chester  and  the  Comte 
de  Virieu  were  going  away,  warmly  invited  Sylvia  to 
supper  at  the  Chalet  des  Muguets  for  that  same  night, 
and  Sylvia  listlessly  accepted.  She  did  not  care  what 
she  did  or  where  she  went. 

At  last  came  the  moment  of  parting. 

"Fll  go  and  see  you  off  at  the  station,"  she  said,  and 
Chester,  rather  surprised,  raised  one  or  two  objections. 
"Pm  determined  to  come,"  she  cried  angrily.  "What  a 
pity  it  is,  Bill,  that  you  always  try  and  manage  other 
people's  business  for  them!" 

And  she  did  go  to  the  station — only  to  be  sorry  for  it 
afterT\'ards. 

Paul  de  Virieu,  holding  her  hand  tightly  clasped  in  his 
for  the  last  time,  had  become  frightfully  pale,  and  as  she 
made  her  way  back  to  the  Casino,  where  the  Wachners 
were  actually  waiting  for  her,  Sylvia  was  haunted  by  his 
reproachful,  despairing  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

It  was  nearly  nine  o'clock,  and  for  the  moment  the 
Casino  was  very  empty,  for  the  afternoon  players  had 
left,  and  the  evening  serie,  as  M.  Polperro  contemptuously 
called  them — the  casual  crowd  of  night  visitors  to  Lacville 
— had  not  yet  arrived  from  Paris. 

"And  now,"  said  Madame  Wachner,  suddenly,  "is  it 
not  time  for  us  to  go  and  'ave  our  little  supper?" 

The  "citizeness  of  the  world"  had  been  watching  her 
husband  and  Sylvia  playing  at  Baccarat;  both  of  them 
had  won,  and  Sylvia  had  welcomed,  eagerly,  the  excite- 
ment of  the  tables. 

Count  Paul's  muttered  farewell  echoed  in  her  ears,  and 
the  ornately  decorated  gambling  room  seemed  full  of  his 
presence. 

She  made  a  great  effort  to  put  any  intimate  thought  of 
him  away.  The  next  day,  so  she  told  herself,  she  would 
go  back  to  England,  to  INIarket  Dalling.  There  she  must 
forget  that  such  a  place  as  Lacville  existed;  there  she 
must  banish  Paul  de  Virieu  from  her  heart  and  memory. 
Yes,  there  was  nothing  now  to  keep  her  here,  in  this 
curious  place,  where  she  had  eaten,  in  more  than  one 
sense,  of  the  bitter  fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowledge. 

With  a  deep,  involuntary  sigh,  she  rose  from  the  table. 

She  looked  at  the  green  cloth,  at  the  people  standing 
round  it,  with  an  odd  feeling  that  neither  the  table  nor 
the  people  round  her  were  quite  real.     Her  heart  and 

287 


288  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

thoughts  were  far  away,  with  the  two  men  both  of  whom 
loved  her  in  their  very  different  ways. 

Then  she  turned  with  an  unmirthful  smile  to  her  com- 
panions. It  would  not  be  fair  to  let  her  private  griefs 
sadden  the  kindly  Wachners.  It  was  really  good  of 
them  to  have  asked  her  to  come  back  to  supper  at  the 
Chalet  des  jMuguets.  She  would  have  found  it  terribly 
lonely  this  evening  at  the  Villa  du  Lac.  .  .  . 

"I  am  quite  ready,"  she  said,  addressing  herself  more 
particularly  to  INIadame  Wachner;  and  the  three  walked 
out  of  the  Club  rooms. 

"Shall  we  take  a  carriage?"  Sylvia  asked  diflfidently; 
she  knew  her  stout  friend  disliked  walking. 

"No,  no,"  said  Monsieur  Wachner  shortly.  "There 
is  no  need  to  take  a  carriage  to-night;  it  is  so  fine,  and, 
besides,  it  is  not  very  far." 

He  so  seldom  interfered  or  negatived  any  suggestion 
that  Sylvia  felt  a  little  surprised,  the  more  so  that  it  was 
really  a  long  walk  from  the  Casino  to  the  lonely  Chalet  des 
Muguets.  But  as  Madame  Wachner  had  nodded  assent 
to  her  husband's  words,  their  English  guest  said  no  more. 

They  started  out  into  the  moonlit  night,  Sylvia  with 
her  light,  springing  step  keeping  pace  with  L'Ami  Fritz, 
while  his  wife  lagged  a  step  behind.  But,  as  was  usual 
with  him,  M.  Wachner  remained  silent,  while  his  com- 
panions talked. 

To-night,  however,  Madame  Wachner  did  not  show 
her  usual  tact;  she  began  discussing  the  two  travellers 
who  were  now  well  started,  no  doubt,  on  their  way  to 
Switzerland,  and  she  expressed  contemptuous  surprise 
that  the  Comte  de  Virieu  had  left  Lac  villa. 


THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  289 

"I  am  glad  'e  'as  gone  away,"  she  said  cheerfully,  "  for 
the  Count  is  what  English  people  call  so  supercilious — so 
different  to  that  excellent  Mr.  Chester!  I  wonder  Mr. 
Chester  was  willing  for  the  Count's  company.  But  you 
'ave  not  lost  'im,  my  pretty  Sylvia!  'E  will  soon  be 
back!" 

As  she  spoke  she  laughed  coarsely,  and  Sylvia  made 
no  answer.  She  thought  it  probable  that  she  would 
never  see  the  Comte  de  Virieu  again,  and  the  conviction 
hurt  intolerably.  It  was  painful  to  be  reminded  of  liim 
now,  in  this  way,  and  by  a  woman  who  she  knew  dis- 
liked and  despised  him. 

She  suddenly  felt  sorry  that  she  had  accepted  the 
Wachner's  invitation. 

To-night  the  way  to  the  Chalet  des  Muguets  seemed 
longer  than  usual — far  longer  than  it  had  seemed  the  last 
time  Sylvia  had  walked  there,  when  Count  Paul  had  been 
her  companion.  It  seemed  as  if  an  immense  time  had 
gone  by  since  then.  .  .  . 

Sylvia  was  glad  when  at  last  the  three  of  them  came 
within  sight  of  the  familiar  white  gate.  How  strangely 
lonely  the  little  house  looked,  standing  back  in  the  tv.ilit 
darkness  of  a  summer  night. 

"I  wonder"— Sylvia  Bailey  looked  up  at  her  silent 
companion,  L'Ami  Fritz  had  not  opened  his  lips  once 
during  the  walk  from  the  Casino,  "I  wonder  that  you 
and  Madame  Wachner  are  not  afraid  to  leave  the  chillet 
alone  for  so  many  hours  of  each  day!  Your  servant 
always  goes  away  after  lunch,  doesn't  slie?" 

"There  is  nothing  to  steal,"  he  answered  shortly. 
"We  always  carry  all  our  money  about  with  \is— all 
sensible  people  do  so  at  Lacville  and  at  Monte  Carlo." 


290  THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR 

Madame  Wachner  was  now  on  Sylvia's  other  side. 

"Yes,"  she  interposed,  rather  breathlessly,  "that  is  so; 
and  I  'ope  that  you,  dear  friend,  followed  the  advice  we 
gave  you  about  the  matter?  I  mean,  I  'ope  you  do  not 
leave  your  money  in  the  hotel?" 

"Of  course  I  don't,"  said  Sylvia,  smiling.  "Ever  since 
you  gave  me  those  pretty  little  leather  pouches  I  always 
carry  all  my  money  about  with  me,  strapped  round  ray 
waist.  At  first  it  wasn't  very  comfortable,  but  I  have 
got  quite  used  to  it  now." 

"That  is  right,"  said  Madame  Wachner,  heartily,  "that 
is  quite  right!  There  are  rogues  everywhere,  perhaps 
even  in  the  Villa  du  Lac,  if  we  knew  everything!"  and 
Sylvia's  hostess  laughed  in  the  darkness  her  hearty, 
jovial  laugh. 

Suddenly  she  bent  forward  and  addressed  her  husband. 
"  By  the  way,  Ami  Fritz,  have  you  written  that  letter  to 
the  Villa  du  Lac?"  She  nodded,  explaining  to  Sylvia, 
"  We  are  anxious  to  get  a  room  in  your  beautiful  pension 
for  a  rich  friend  of  ours." 

Sylvia  had  the  instant  feeling — she  could  not  have  told 
why — that  his  wife's  question  had  greatly  annoyed  Mon- 
sieur Wachner. 

"Of  course  I  have  written  the  letter!"  he  snapped  out. 
"Do  I  ever  forget  anji;hing?" 

"But  I'm  afraid  there  is  no  room  vacant  in  the  Villa 
du  Lac,"  said  Sylvia.  "And  yet — well,  I  suppose  they 
have  not  yet  had  time  to  let  the  Comte  de  Virieu's  room. 
They  only  knew  he  was  going  this  morning.  But  you 
need  not  have  troubled  to  write  a  letter,  Monsieur  Wach- 
ner. I  could  have  given  the  message  when  I  got  back 
to-night.     In  any  case  let  me  take  yous  letter." 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOim  291 

"Ah!  but  the  person  in  question  may  arrive  before  you 
get  back,"  said  Madame  Wachncr.  "No,  no,  we  have 
arranged  to  send  the  letter  by  a  caljman  who  will  call 
for  it." 

Monsieur  Wachner  pushed  opened  the  white  gate,  and 
all  three  began  walking  up  through  the  garden.  The 
mantle  of  night  now  draped  every  straggling  bush,  every 
wilted  flower,  and  the  little  wilderness  was  filled  with 
delicious,  pungent  night  scents. 

When  they  reached  the  front  door  L'Ami  Fritz  stooped 
down,  and  began  looking  under  the  mat. 

Sylvia  smiled  in  the  darkness;  there  seemed  some- 
thing so  primitive,  so  simple,  in  keeping  the  key  of  one's 
front  door  outside  under  the  mat!  And  yet  foolish, 
prejudiced  people  spoke  of  Lacville  as  a  dangerous  spot, 
as  the  plague  pit  of  Paris. 

Suddenly  the  door  was  opened  by  the  day-servant. 
And  both  the  husband  and  wife  uttered  an  involuntary 
exclamation  of  surprise  and  displeasure. 

"WTiat  are  you  doing  here?"  asked  Madame  Wachner 
harshly.  There  was  a  note  of  dismay,  as  well  as  of 
anger,  in  her  voice. 

The  woman  began  to  excuse  herself  volubly.  "I 
thought  I  might  be  of  some  use,  Madame.  I  thought  I 
might  help  you  with  all  the  last  details." 

"There  was  no  necessity — none  at  all — for  doing  any- 
thing of  the  kind,"  said  her  mistress,  in  a  low,  quick 
voice.  "You  had  been  paid!  You  had  had  your 
present!  However,  as  you  are  here,  you  may  as  well 
lay  a  third  place  in  the  dining-room,  for,  as  you  see.  we 
have   brought  Madame   Bailey   back   to   have   a   little 


292        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

supper.  She  will  only  stay  a  very  few  moments,  as  she 
has  to  be  at  the  Villa  du  Lac  by  ten  o'clock," 

The  woman  turned  and  threw  open  the  door  of  the 
dining-room.  Then  she  struck  a  match,  and  lighted  a 
lamp  which  stood  on  the  table. 

Sylvia,  as  is  often  the  case  with  those  who  have  been 
much  thrown  wuth  French  people,  could  understand 
French  much  better  than  she  could  speak  it,  and  what 
Madame  Wachner  had  just  hissed  out  in  rapid,  mumbling 
tones,  surprised  and  puzzled  her. 

It  was  quite  untrue  that  she,  Sylvia,  had  to  be  back 
at  the  Villa  du  Lac  by  ten  o'clock — for  the  matter  of 
that,  she  could  stay  out  as  long  and  as  late  as  she 
liked. 

Then,  again,  although  the  arrangement  that  she  should 
come  to  supper  at  the  Chalet  des  Muguets  to-night  had 
been  made  that  afternoon,  the  Wachners  had  been  home, 
but  they  had  evidently  forgotten  to  tell  their  servant 
that  they  were  expecting  a  visitor,  for  only  two  places 
were  laid  in  the  little  dining-room  into  which  they  al? 
three  walked  on  entering  the  house. 

Propped  up  against  the  now  lighted  lamp  was  a  letter 
addressed  to  Monsieur  Polperro  in  a  peculiar,  large  hand- 
writing. L'Ami  Fritz,  again  uttering  that  queer  guttural 
exclamation,  snatched  up  the  envelope,  and  hurriedly  put 
it  into  his  breast-pocket. 

"I  brought  that  letter  out  of  M'sieur's  bed-room,"  ob- 
served the  day-servant,  cringingly.  "I  feared  M'sieur 
had  forgotten  it!  Would  M'sieur  like  me  to  take  it  to 
the  Villa  du  Lac  on  my  way  home?  " 

"No,"  said  Monsieur  Wachner,  shortly,     "There  is  no 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  293 

need  for  you  to  do  that;  Madame  Bailey  will  kindly  take 
it  for  me." 

And  again  Sylvia  felt  surprised.  Surely  lie  had  said— 
or  was  it  Madame  Wachner?— that  they  had  arranged 
for  a  man  to  call  for  it. 

His  w^ife  shouted  out  his  name  imperiously  from  the 
dark  passage,  "Fritz!  Fritz!  Come  here  a  moment;  I 
want  you." 

He  hurried  out  of  the  room,  and  Sylvia  and  the  servant 
were  thus  left  alone  together  for  a  few  moments  in  the 
dining-room. 

The  woman  went  to  the  buffet  and  took  up  a  plate; 
she  came  and  placed  it  noisily  on  the  table,  and,  under 
cover  of  the  sound  she  made,  "Do  not  stay  here,  Mad- 
ame," she  whispered,  thrusting  her  wrinkled,  sharp- 
featured  face  close  to  the  Englishwoman's.  "  Come  away 
with  me!  Say  you  want  me  to  wait  a  bit  and  conduct 
you  back  to  the  Villa  du  Lac." 

Sylvia  stared  at  her  distrustfully.  This  femme  de 
menage  had  a  disagreeable  face;  there  was  a  cunning, 
avaricious  look  in  her  eyes,  or  so  Mrs.  Bailey  fancied;  no, 
doubt  she  remembered  the  couple  of  francs  which  had 
been  given  to  her,  or  rather  extorted  by  her,  on  the  oc- 
casion of  the  English  lady's  last  visit  to  the  Chalet  des 
Muguets. 

"  I  will  not  say  more,"  the  servant  went  on,  speaking 
very  quickly,  and  under  her  breath.  "But  I  am  an 
honest  w'oman,  and  these  people  frighten  me.  Still,  I 
am  not  one  to  want  embarrassments  with  the  police." 

And  Sylvia  suddenly  remembered  that  those  were 
exactly  the  words  which  had  been   uttered   by  Anna 


294  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

Wolsky's  landlady  in  connection  with  Anna's  disappear- 
ance. How  frightened  French  people  seemed  to  be  of 
the  police! 

There  came  the  sound  of  steps  in  the  passage,  and  the 
Frenchwoman  moved  away  quickly  from  Sylvia's  side. 
She  took  up  the  plate  she  had  just  placed  on  the  table, 
and  to  Sylvia's  mingled  disgust  and  amusement  began 
rubbing  it  vigorously  with  her  elbow. 

Monsieur  Wachner  entered  the  room. 

"That  will  do,  that  will  do,  Annette,"  he  said  patron- 
isingly.  "Come  here,  my  good  woman!  Your  mistress 
and  I  desire  to  give  you  a  further  little  gift  as  you  have 
shown  so  much  zeal  to-day,  so  here  is  twenty  francs." 

" Merci,  M'sieur." 

Without  looking  again  at  Sylvia  the  woman  went  out 
of  the  room,  and  a  moment  later  the  front  door  slammed 
behind  her. 

"My  wife  discovered  that  it  is  Annette's  fete  day  to- 
morrow, and  gave  her  a  trifle.  But  she  was  evidently 
not  satisfied,  and  no  doubt  that  was  why  she  stayed  on 
to-night,"  observed  ]\Ionsieur  Wachner  solemnly. 

Madame  Wachner  now  came  in.  She  had  taken  off 
her  bonnet  and  changed  her  elastic-sided  boots  for  easy 
slippers. 

"Oh,  those  French  people!"  she  exclaimed.  "How 
greedy  they  are  for  money!     But — well,   Annette  has 

earned  her  present  very  fairly "     She  shrugged  her 

shoulders. 

"May  I  go  and  take  off  my  hat?"  asked  Sylvia;  she 
left  the  room  before  Madame  Wachner  could  answer  her, 
and  hurried  down  the  short,  dark  passage. 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  295 

The  door  of  the  moonlit  kitchen  was  ajar,  and  to  ht-r 
surprise  she  saw  that  a  large  trunk,  cordetl  and  even 
labelled,  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  Close  to  the 
trunk  was  a  large  piece  of  sacking — and  by  it  another 
coil  of  thick  rope. 

Was  it  possible  that  the  Wachners,  too,  were  leaving 
Lacville?  If  so, how  very  odd  of  them  not  to  have  told  her! 

As  she  opened  the  door  of  the  bed-room  Madame 
Wachner  waddled  up  behind  her. 

"Wait  a  moment!"  she  cried.  "Or  perhaps,  dear 
friend,  you  do  not  want  a  light?  You  see,  we  have  been 
rather  upset  to-day,  for  L'Ami  Fritz  has  to  go  away  for 
two  or  three  days,  and  that  is  a  great  affair!  We  are  so 
very  seldom  separated.  'Darby  and  Joan,'  is  not  that 
what  English  people  would  call  us?" 

"The  moon  is  so  bright  I  can  see  quite  well,"  Sylvia 
was  taking  off  her  hat;  she  put  it,  together  with  a  little 
fancy  bag  in  which  she  kept  the  loose  gold  she  played 
with  at  the  gambling  tables,  on  Madame  Wachner 's  bed. 
She  felt  vaguely  uncomfortable,  for  even  as  Madame 
Wachner  had  spoken  she  had  become  aware  that  the 
bed-room  was  almost  entirely  cleared  of  everything  be- 
longing to  its  occupants.  However,  the  Wachners,  like 
Anna  Wolsky,  had  the  right  to  go  away  without  telling 
anyone  of  their  intention. 

As  they  came  back  into  the  dining-room  together, 
Mrs.  Bailey's  host,  who  was  already  sitting  down  at 
table,  looked  up. 

"Words!  Words!  Words!"  he  exclaimed  harshly. 
"Instead  of  talking  so  much  why  do  you  not  both  come 
here  and  eat  your  suppers?     I  am  very  hungry." 


296        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

Sylvia  had  never  heard  the  odd,  silent  man  speak  in 
such  a  tone  before,  but  his  wife  answered  quite  good- 
humouredly, 

"You  forget,  Fritz,  that  the  cabman  is  coming.  Till 
he  has  come  and  gone  we  shall  not  have  peace." 

And  sure  enough,  within  a  moment  of  her  saying  those 
words  there  came  a  sound  of  shuffling  footsteps  on  the 
garden  path. 

Monsieur  Wachner  got  up  and  went  out  of  the  room. 
He  opened  the  front  door,  and  Sylvia  overheard  a  few 
words  of  the  colloquy  between  her  host  and  his  messenger. 

"Yes,  you  are  to  take  it  now,  at  once.  Just  leave  it 
at  the  Villa  du  Lac.  You  will  come  for  us — you  will 
come,  that  is,  for  me'' — ^Monsieur  Wachner  raised  his 
voice — "to-morrow  morning  at  half-past  six.  I  desire 
to  catch  the  7.10  train  to  Paris." 

There  was  a  jingle  of  silver,  and  then  Sylvia  caught 
the  man's  answering,  "  Merci,  c'est  enfendu,  M'sieur." 

But  L'Ami  Fritz  did  not  come  back  at  once  to  the 
dining-room.  He  went  out  into  the  garden  and  accom- 
panied the  man  down  to  the  gate. 

When  he  came  back  again  he  put  a  large  key  on  the 
dining-table. 

"There!"  he  said,  with  a  grunt  of  satisfaction.  "Now 
there  will  be  nothing  to  disturb  us  any  more." 

They  all  three  sat  down  at  the  round  dining-table.  To 
Sylvia's  surprise  a  very  simple  meal  was  set  out  before 
them.  There  was  only  one  small  dish  of  galantine. 
When  Sylvia  Bailey  had  been  to  supper  with  the  Wach- 
ners  before,  there  had  always  been  two  or  three  tempting 
cold   dishes,  and   some   dainty  friandises  as  well,   the 


THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  297 

whole  evidently  procured  from  the  excellent  confectioner 
who  drives  such  a  roaring  trade  at  Lacville.  To-night, 
in  addition  to  the  few  slices  of  galantine,  there  was  only 
a  little  fruit. 

Then  a  very  odd  thing  happened. 

L'Ami  Fritz  helped  first  his  wife  and  himself  largely, 
then  Sylvia  more  frugally.  It  was  perhaps  a  slight 
matter,  the  more  so  that  Monsieur  Wachner  was  notori- 
ously forgetful,  being  ever,  according  to  his  wife,  absorbed 
in  his  calculations  and  "systems."  But  all  the  same,  this 
extraordinary  lack  of  good  manners  on  her  host's  part 
added  to  Sylvia's  feeling  of  strangeness  and  discomfort. 

Indeed,  the  Wachners  were  both  very  unlike  their 
usual  selves  this  evening.  Madame  Wachner  had  sud- 
denly become  very  serious,  her  stout  red  face  was  set  in 
rather  grim,  grave  lines;  and  twice,  as  Sylvia  was  eating 
the  little  piece  of  galantine  which  had  been  placed  on  her 
plate  by  L'Ami  Fritz,  she  looked  up  and  caught  her 
hostess's  eyes  fixed  on  her  with  a  curious,  alien  scrutiny. 

When  they  had  almost  finished  the  meat,  Madame 
Wachner  suddenly  exclaimed  in  French. 

"Fritz!  You  have  forgotten  to  mix  the  salad !  What- 
ever made  you  forget  such  an  important  thing?  You 
will  find  what  is  necessary  in  the  drawer  behind  you." 

Monsieur  Wachner  made  no  answer.  He  got  up  and 
pulled  the  drawer  of  the  buffet  open.  Taking  out  of  it 
a  wooden  spoon  and  fork,  he  came  back  to  the  table  and 
began  silently  mixing  the  salad. 

The  two  last  times  Sylvia  had  been  at  the  Chalet  des 
Muguets,  her  host,  in  deference  to  her  English  taste,  had 
put  a  large  admixture  of  vinegar  in  the  salad  dressing, 


298  THE   CHINK   IX   THE    ARMOUR 

but  this  ttme  she  saw  that  he  soused  the  lettuce-leaves 
with  oil. 

At  last,  "Will  you  have  some  salad,  Mrs.  Bailey?"  he 
said  brusquely,  and  in  English.  He  spoke  English  far 
better  than  did  his  wife. 

"No,"  she  said.     "Not  to-night,  thank  you!" 

And  Sylvia,  smiling,  looked  across  at  ]\Iadame  Wachner, 
expecting  to  see  in  the  older  woman's  face  a  humorous 
appreciation  of  the  fact  that  L'Ami  Fritz  had  forgotten 
her  well-known  horror  of  oil. 

Mrs.  Bailey's  dislike  of  the  favourite  French  salad- 
dressing  ingredient  had  long  been  a  joke  among  the 
three,  nay,  among  the  four,  for  Anna  Wolsky  had  been 
there  the  last  time  Sylvia  had  had  supper  with  the  Wach- 
ners.     It  had  been  such  a  merry  meal ! 

To-night  no  meaning  smile  met  hers;  instead  she  only 
saw  that  odd,  grave,  considering  look  on  her  hostess's 
face. 

Suddenly  Madame  Wachner  held  out  her  plate  across 
the  table,  and  L'Ami  Fritz  heaped  it  up  with  the  oily 
salad. 

Sylvia  Bailey's  plate  was  empty,  but  Monsieur  Wach- 
ner did  not  seem  to  notice  that  his  guest  lacked  anything. 
And  at  last,  to  her  extreme  astonishment,  she  suddenly 
saw  him  take  up  one  of  the  two  pieces  of  meat  remain- 
ing on  the  dish,  and,  leaning  across,  drop  it  on  his  wife's 
plate.  Then  he  helped  himself  to  the  last  remaining 
morsel. 

It  was  such  a  trifling  thing  really,  and  due  of  course 
to  her  host's  singular  absent-mindedness;  yet,  even  so, 
taken  in  connection  with  both  the  Wachners'  silence  and 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  299 

odd  manner,  this  lack  of  the  commonest  courtesy  struck 
Sylvia  with  a  kind  of  fear — with  fear  and  with  pain. 
She  felt  so  hurt  that  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

There  was  a  long  moment's  pause — then, 

"Do  you  not  feel  well,"  asked  Madame  Wachner 
harshly,  "or  are  you  grieving  for  the  Comte  de  Virieu?" 

Her  voice  had  become  guttural,  full  of  coarse  and 
cruel  malice,  and  even  as  she  spoke  she  went  on  eating 
voraciously. 

Sylvia  Bailey  pushed  her  chair  back,  and  rose  to  her 
feet. 

"I  should  like  to  go  home  now,"  she  said  quietly,  "for 
it  is  getting  late," — her  voice  shook  a  little.  She  was 
desperately  afraid  of  disgracing  herself  by  a  childish  out- 
burst of  tears.  "I  can  make  my  way  back  quite  well 
without  Monsieur  Wachner's  escort." 

She  saw  her  host  shrug  his  shoulders.  He  made  a 
grimace  at  his  wife;  it  expressed  annoyance,  nay,  more, 
extreme  disapproval. 

Madame  Wachner  also  got  up.  She  wiped  her  mouth 
with  her  napkin,  and  then  laid  her  hand  on  Sylvia's 
shoulder. 

"Come,  come,"  she  exclaimed,  and  this  time  she  spoke 
quite  kindly,  "you  must  not  be  cross  wnth  me,  dear 
friend!  I  was  only  laughing,  I  was  only  what  you  call 
in  England  'teasing.'  The  truth  is  I  am  very  vexed  and 
upset  that  our  supper  is  not  better.  I  told  that  fool 
Frenchwoman  to  get  in  something  really  nice,  and  she 
disobeyed  me!  I  was  'ungry,  too,  for  I  'ad  no  dejeuner 
to-day,  and  that  makes  one  'ollow,  does  it  not?  But 
now  L'Ami  Fritz  is  going  to  make  us  some  good  coffee  I 


300  THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

After  we  'ave  'ad  it  you  shall  go  away  if  so  is  your  wish, 
but  my  'usbaud  will  certainly  accompany  you " 

"Most  certainly  I  will  do  so;  you  will  not  move — no, 
not  a  single  step — without  me,"  said  Monsieur  Wachner 
solemnly. 

And  then  Madame  Wachner  burst  out  into  a  sudden 
peal  of  laughter — laughter  which  was  infectious. 

Sylvia  smiled  too,  and  sat  down  again.  After  all,  as 
Paul  de  Virieu  had  truly  said,  not  once,  but  many  times, 
the  Wachners  were  not  refined  people — but  they  were 
kind  and  very  good-natured.  And  then  she,  Sylvia,  was 
tired  and  low-spirited  to-night — no  doubt  she  had  imag- 
ined the  change  in  their  manner,  which  had  so  surprised 
and  hurt  her. 

IMadame  Wachner  was  quite  her  old  self  again;  just 
now  she  was  engaged  in  heaping  all  the  cherries  which 
were  in  the  dessert  dish  on  her  guest's  plate,  in  spite  of 
Sylvia's  eager  protest. 

L'Ami  Fritz  got  up  and  left  the  room.  He  was  going 
into  the  kitchen  to  make  the  coffee. 

"Mr.  Chester  was  telling  me  of  your  valuable  pearls," 
said  Madame  Wachner  pleasantly.  "I  icas  surprised! 
WTiat  a  lot  of  money  to  'ang  round  one's  neck!  But  it 
is  worth  it  if  one  'as  so  lovely  a  neck  as  'as  the  beautiful 
Sylvia!  May  I  look  at  your  pearls,  dear  friend?  Or  do 
you  never  take  them  off?  " 

Sylvia  unclasped  the  string  of  pearls  and  laid  it  on  the 
table. 

"Yes,  they  are  rather  nice,"  she  said  modestly.  "I 
always  wear  them,  even  at  night.  Many  people  have  a 
knot  made  between  each  pearl,  for  that,  of  course,  makes 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR  301 

the  danger  of  losing  them  much  less  should  the  string 
break.  But  mine  are  not  knotted,  for  a  lady  once  told 
me  that  it  made  the  pearls  hang  much  less  prettily;  she 
said  it  would  be  quite  sate  if  I  had  them  restrung  every 
six  months.  So  that  is  what  I  do.  I  had  them  restrung 
just  before  coming  to  France." 

Madame  Wachner  reverentially  took  up  the  pearls  in 
her  large  hand;  she  seemed  to  be  weighing  them. 

"How  heavy  they  are,"  she  said  at  length,  and  now 
she  spoke  French. 

"Yes,"  said  Sylvia,  "you  can  always  tell  a  real  pearl 
by  its  weight." 

"And  to  think,"  went  on  her  hostess  musingly,  "that 
each  of  these  tiny  balls  is  worth — how  much  is  it  worth? 
— at  least  five  or  six  hundred  francs,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,"  said  Sylvia  again,  "I'm  glad  to  say  they  have 
increased  in  value  during  the  last  few  years.  You  sec, 
pearls  are  the  only  really  fashionable  gems  just  now." 

"And  they  cannot  be  identified  like  other  fine  jewels," 
observed  Madame  Wachner,  "but  I  suppose  they  are 
worth  more  together  than  separately?"  she  was  still 
speaking  in  that  thoughtful,  considering  tone. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  that,"  said  Sylvia,  smiling.  " Each 
separate  pearl  is  worth  a  good  deal,  but  still  I  daresay 
you  are  right,  for  these  are  beautifully  matched.  I  got 
them,  by  a  piece  of  great  luck,  without  having  to  pay — 
well,  what  I  suppose  one  would  call  the  middle-man's 
profit!  I  just  paid  what  I  should  have  done  at  a  good 
London  sale." 

"And  you  paid? — seven — eight  'undred  pounds?" 
asked    Madame  Wachner,   this    time    in    English,   and 


302        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

fixing  her  small,  dark  eyes  on  the  fair  Englishwoman's 
face. 

"Oh,  rather  more  than  that."  Sylvia  grew  a  little  red. 
"But  as  I  said  just  now,  they  are  always  increasing  in 
value.  Even  Mr.  Chester,  who  did  not  approve  of  my 
getting  these  pearls,  admits  that  I  made  a  good  bar- 
gain." 

Through  the  open  door  she  thought  she  heard  Monsieur 
Wachner  coming  back  down  the  passage.  So  she  sud- 
denly took  the  pearls  out  of  the  other  woman's  hand 
and  clasped  the  string  about  her  neck  again. 

L'Ami  Fritz  came  into  the  room.  He  was  holding 
rather  awkwardly  a  little  tray  on  which  were  two  cups 
— one  a  small  cup,  the  other  a  large  cup,  both  filled  to 
the  brim  with  black  coffee.  He  put  the  small  cup  before 
his  guest,  the  large  cup  before  his  wife. 

"I  hope  you  do  not  mind  having  a  small  cup,"  he  said 
solemnly.  "I  remember  that  you  do  not  care  to  take  a 
great  deal  of  coffee,  so  I  have  given  you  the  small  cup.'* 

Sylvia  looked  up. 

"Oh  dear!"  she  exclaimed,  "I  ought  to  have  told  you 
before  you  made  it.  Monsieur  Wachner — but  I  won't 
have  any  coffee  to-night.  The  last  time  I  took  some  I 
lay  awake  all  night." 

"Oh,  but  you  must  take  coffee!"  Madame  Wachner 
spoke  good-humouredly,  but  with  great  determination. 
"The  small  amount  you  have  in  that  little  cup  will  not 
hurt  you ;  and  besides  it  is  a  special  coffee,  L'Ami  Fritz's 
own  mixture" — she  laughed  heartily. 

And  again  Sylvia  noticed  that  Monsieur  Wachner 
looked  at  his  wife  with  a  fixed,  rather  angry  look,  as 


THE   CHINK   IN   THE   ARMOUR  303 

much  as  to  say,  "Why  are  you  always  laughing?     Why 
cannot  you  be  serious  sometimes?" 

"  But  to-night,  honestly,  I  would  really  rather  not  have 
any  coffee!" 

Sylvia  had  suddenly  seen  a  vision  of  herself  lying  wide 
awake  during  long  dark  hours — hours  which,  as  she  knew 
by  experience,  generally  bring  to  the  sleepless,  worrying 
thoughts. 

"No,  no,  I  will  not  have  any  coffee  to-night,"  she 
repeated. 

"Yes,  yes,  dear  friend,  you  really  must,"  Madame 
Wachner  spoke  very  persuasively.  "I  should  be  truly 
sorry  if  you  did  not  take  this  coffee.  Indeed,  it  would 
make  me  think  you  were  angry  with  us  because  of  the 
very  bad  supper  we  had  given  you!  L'Ami  Fritz  would 
not  have  taken  the  trouble  to  make  coffee  for  his  old 
wife.  He  has  made  it  for  you,  only  for  you;  he  will  be 
hurt  if  you  do  not  take  it!" 

The  coffee  did  look  very  tempting  and  fragrant. 

Sylvia  had  always  disliked  coffee  in  England,  but 
somehow  French  coffee  was  quite  different;  it  had  quite 
another  taste  from  that  of  the  mixture  which  the  ladies 
of  Market  Dalling  pressed  on  their  guests  at  their  dinner- 
parties. 

She  lifted  the  pretty  little  cup  to  her  lips— but  the 
coffee,  this  coffee  of  L'Ami  Fritz,  his  special  mixture,  as 
his  wife  had  termed  it,  had  a  rather  curious  taste,  it  was 
slightly  bitter — decidedly  not  so  nice  as  that  which  she 
was  accustomed  to  drink  each  day  after  dejeuner  at  the 
Villa  du  Lac.  Surely  it  would  be  very  foolish  to  risk  a 
bad  night  for  a  small  cup  of  indifferent  coffee? 


304        THE  CHINK  IX  THE  ARMOUR 

She  put  the  cup  down,  and  pushed  it  away. 

"Please  do  not  ask  me  to  take  it,"  she  said  firmly. 
"It  really  is  very  bad  for  me  I" 

Madame  Wachner  shrugged  her  shoulders  with  an 
angry  gesture. 

"So  be  it,"  she  said,  and  then  imperiously,  "Fritz,  will 
you  please  come  with  me  for  a  moment  into  the  next 
room?     I  have  something  to  ask  you," 

He  got  up  and  silently  obeyed  his  wife.  Before  leaving 
the  room  he  slipped  the  key  of  the  garden  gate  into  his 
trousers  pocket. 

A  moment  later  Sylvia,  left  alone,  could  hear  them 
talking  eagerly  to  one  another  in  that  strange,  unknown 
tongue  in  which  they  sometimes — not  often — addressed 
one  another. 

She  got  up  from  her  chair,  seized  with  a  sudden,  eager 
desire  to  slip  away  before  they  came  back.  For  a  moment 
she  even  thought  of  leaving  the  house  without  waiting  for 
her  hat  and  little  fancy  bag;  and  then,  with  a  strange 
sinking  of  the  heart  she  remembered  that  the  white  gate 
was  locked,  and  that  L'Ami  Fritz  had  now  the  key  of  it 
in  his  pocket. 

But  in  no  case  would  Sylvia  have  had  time  to  do  what 
she  had  thought  of  doing,  for  a  moment  later  her  host 
and  hostess  were  back  in  the  room. 

Madame  Wachner  sat  down  again  at  the  dining-table. 

"One  moment!"  she  exclaimed,  rather  breathlessly. 
"  Just  wait  till  I  'ave  finished  my  coffee,  Sylvia  dear,  and 
then  L'Ami  Fritz  will  escort  you  'ome." 

Rather  unwillingly,  Sylvia  again  sat  down. 

Monsieur  Wachner  was  paying  no  attention  either  to 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  305 

his  guest  or  to  his  wife.  He  took  up  the  chair  on  which 
he  had  been  sitting,  and  placed  it  out  of  the  way  near 
the  door.  Then  he  lifted  the  lighted  lamp  off  the  table 
and  put  it  on  the  buffet. 

As  he  did  so,  Sylvia,  looking  up,  saw  the  shadow  of 
his  tall,  lank  figure  thrown  grotesquely,  hugely,  against 
the  opposite  wall  of  the  room. 

"Now  take  the  cloth  off  the  table,"  he  said  curtly. 
And  his  wife,  gulping  down  the  last  drops  of  her  coffee, 
got  up  and  obeyed  him. 

Sylvia  suddenlj^  realised  that  they  were  getting  ready 
for  something — that  they  wanted  the  room  cleared 

As  with  quick,  deft  fingers  she  folded  up  the  cloth, 
Madame  Wachner  exclaimed,  "As  you  are  not  taking 
any  coffee,  Sylvia,  perhaps  it  is  time  for  you  now  to  get 
up  and  go  away." 

Sylvia  Bailey  looked  across  at  the  speaker,  and  red- 
dened deeply.  She  felt  very  angry.  Never  in  the  course 
of  her  pleasant,  easy,  prosperous  life  had  anyone  ven- 
tured to  dismiss  her  in  this  fashion  from  their  house. 

She  rose,  for  the  second  time  during  the  course  of  her 
short  meal,  to  her  feet 

And  then,  in  a  flash,  there  occurred  that  which  trans- 
formed her  anger  into  agonised  fear — fear  and  terror. 

The  back  of  her  neck  had  been  grazed  by  something 
sharp  and  cold,  and  as  she  gave  a  smothered  cry  she  saw 
that  her  string  of  pearls  had  parted  in  two.  The  pearls 
were  now  falling  quickly  one  by  one,  and  rolling  all  over 
the  floor. 

Instinctively  she  bent  down,  but  as  she  did  so  she 
heard  the  man  behind  her  make  a  quick  movement. 


306  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

She  straightened  herself  and  looked  sharply  round. 

L'Ami  Fritz  was  still  holding  in  his  hand  the  small 
pair  of  nail  scissors  with  which  he  had  snipped  asunder 
her  necklace;  with  the  other  he  was  in  the  act  of  taking 
out  something  from  the  drawer  of  the  buffet. 

She  suddenly  saw  what  that  something  was. 

Sylvia  Bailey's  nerves  steadied;  her  mind  became  curi- 
ously collected  and  clear.  There  had  leapt  on  her  the 
knowledge  that  this  man  and  woman  meant  to  kill  her — 
to  kill  her  for  the  sake  of  the  pearls  which  were  still 
bounding  about  the  floor,  and  for  the  comparatively 
small  sum  of  money  which  she  carried  slung  in  the  leather 
bag  below  her  waist. 

L'Ami  Fritz  now  stood  staring  at  her.  He  had  put 
his  right  hand — the  hand  holding  the  thing  he  had  taken 
out  of  the  drawer — behind  his  back.  He  was  very  pale; 
the  sweat  had  broken  out  on  his  sallow,  thin  face. 

For  a  horrible  moment  there  floated  across  Sylvia's 
sub-conscious  mind  the  thought  of  Anna  Wolsky,  and  of 
what  she  now  knew  to  have  been  Anna  Wolsky 's  fate. 

But  she  put  that  thought,  that  awful  knowledge,  deter- 
minedly away  from  her.  The  instinct  of  self-preservation 
possessed  her  wholly. 

Already,  in  far  less  time  than  it  would  have  taken  to 
formulate  the  words,  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  speak, 
and  she  knew  exactly  what  she  meant  to  say. 

''It  does  not  matter  about  my  pearls,"  Sylvia  said, 
quietly.  Her  voice  shook  a  little,  but  otherwise  she 
spoke  in  her  usual  tone.  "If  you  are  going  into  Paris 
to-morrow  morning,  perhaps  you  would  take  them  to  be 
restrung?" 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  307 

The  man  looked  questioningly  across  at  his  wife. 

"Yes,  that  sounds  a  good  plan,"  he  said,  in  his  guttural 
voice. 

"No,"  exclaimed  Madame  Wachner,  decidedly,  "that 
will  not  do  at  all  1  We  must  not  run  that  risk.  The  pearls 
must  be  found,  now,  at  once!  Stoop!"  she  said  imperi- 
ously.    "Stoop,  Sylvia!     Help  me  to  find  your  pearls!" 

She  made  a  gesture  as  if  she  also  meant  to  bend 
down.  .  .  . 

But  Sylvia  Bailey  made  no  attempt  to  obey  the  sinister 
order.  Slowly,  warily  she  edged  herself  towards  the 
closed  window.  At  last  she  stood  with  her  back  to  it — 
at  bay. 

"No,"  she  said  quietly,  "I  will  not  stoop  to  pick  up 
my  pearls  now,  Madame  Wachner.  It  will  be  easier  to 
find  them  in  the  daylight.  I  am  sure  that  Monsieur 
W^achner  could  pick  them  all  up  for  me  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. Is  not  that  so,  Ami  Fritz?"  and  there  was  a  tone 
of  pleading,  for  the  first  time  of  pitiful  fear,  in  her  soft 
voice. 

She  looked  at  him  piteously,  her  large  blue  eyes  wide 
open,  dilated 

"It  is  not  my  husband's  business  to  pick  up  your 
pearls!"  exclaimed  Madame  Wachner  harshly. 

She  stepped  forward  and  gripped  Sylvia  by  the  arm, 
pulling  her  violently  forward.  As  she  did  so  she  made  a 
sign  to  her  husband,  and  he  pushed  a  chair  quickly  be- 
tw^een  Mrs.  Bailey  and  the  window. 

Sylvia  had  lost  her  point  of  vantage,  but  she  was 
young  and  lithe;  she  kept  her  feet. 

Nevertheless,  she  knew  with  a  cold,  reasoned  knowl- 


308        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

edge  that  she  was  very  near  to  death — that  it  was  only 
a  question  of  minutes, — unless — unless  she  could  make 
the  man  and  woman  before  her  understand  that  they 
would  gain  far  more  money  by  allowing  her  to  live  than 
by  killing  her  now,  to-night,  for  the  value  of  the  pearls 
that  lay  scattered  on  the  floor,  and  the  small,  the  pitiably 
small  sum  on  her  person. 

"If  you  will  let  me  go,''  she  said,  desperately,  "I  swear 
I  will  give  you  ever}i;hing  I  have  in  the  world!" 

Madame  Wachner  suddenly  laid  her  hand  on  Sylvia's 
arm,  and  tried  to  force  her  down  on  to  her  knees. 

"  \Vhat  do  you  take  us  for?  "  she  cried,  furiously.  "  We 
want  nothing  from  you — nothing  at  all!" 

She  looked  across  at  her  husband,  and  there  burst  from 
her  lips  a  torrent  of  words,  uttered  in  the  uncouth  tongue 
which  the  Wachners  used  for  secrecy. 

SyMa  tried  desperately  to  understand,  but  she  could 
make  nothing  of  the  strange,  rapid-spoken  syllables — ■ 
until  there  fell  on  her  ear,  twice  repeated,  the  name 
Wolsky.  .  .  . 

Madame  Wachner  stepped  suddenly  back,  and  as  she 
did  so  L'Ami  Fritz  moved  a  step  forward. 

Sylvia  looked  at  him,  an  agonised  appeal  in  her  eyes. 
He  was  smiling  hideously,  a  nervous  grin  zig-zagging 
across  his  large,  thin-lipped  moutli. 

"You  should  have  taken  the  coffee,"  he  muttered  in 
English.     "It  would  have  saved  us  all  so  much  trouble!" 

He  put  out  his  left  hand,  and  the  long,  strong  fingers 
closed,  tentacle-wise,  on  her  slender  shoulder. 

His  right  hand  he  kept  still  hidden  behind  his  back 


CHAPTER  XXV 

The  great  open-air  restaurant  in  the  Champs  Elysees 
was  full  of  foreigners,  and  Paul  de  Virieu  and  Bill  Chester 
were  sitting  opposite  to  one  another  on  the  broad  terrace 
dotted  with  little  tables  embowered  in  flowering  shrubs. 

They  were  both  smoking, — the  Englishman  a  cigar, 
the  Frenchman  a  cigarette.  It  was  now  half-past  seven, 
and  instead  of  taking  the  first  express  to  Switzerland  they 
had  decided  to  have  dinner  comfortably  in  Paris  and  to 
go  on  by  a  later  train. 

Neither  man  felt  that  he  had  very  much  to  say  to  the 
other,  and  Chester  started  a  little  in  his  seat  when  Paul 
de  Virieu  suddenly  took  his  cigarette  out  of  his  mouth, 
put  it  down  on  the  table,  and  leant  forward.  lie  looked 
at  the  man  sitting  opposite  to  him  straight  in  the  eyes. 

"I  do  not  feel  at  all  happy  at  our  having  left  Mrs. 
Bailey  alone  at  Lacville,"  he  said,  deliberately. 

Chester  stared  back  at  him,  telling  himself  angrily  as 
he  did  so  that  he  did  not  in  the  least  know  what  the 
Frenchman  was  driving  at! 

What  did  Paul  de  Virieu  mean  by  saying  this  stupid, 
obvious  thing,  and  why  should  he  drag  in  the  question 
of  his  being  happy  or  unhappy? 

"You  know  that  I  did  my  best  to  persuade  her  to 
leave  the  place,"  said  Chester  shortly.  Then,  very  de- 
liberately he  added,  "I  am  afraid,  Count,  that  you've 
got  quite  a  wrong  notion  in  your  mind  concerning  myself 
and  Mrs.  Bailey.    It  is  true  I  am  her  trustee,  but  I  have 

309 


310  THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR 

no  power  of  making  her  do  what  I  think  sensible,  or  even 
what  I  think  right.     She  is  absolutely  her  own  mistress." 

He  stopped  abruptly,  for  he  had  no  wish  to  discuss 
Sylvia  and  Sylvia's  affairs  with  this  foreigner,  however 
oddly  intimate  Mrs.  Bailey  had  allowed  herself  to  get 
with  the  Comte  de  Virieu. 

"Lac\'ille  is  such  a  very  queer  place,"  observed  the 
Count,  meditatively.  "It  is  perhaps  even  queerer  than 
you  know  or  guess  it  to  be,  Mr.  Chester." 

The  English  lawyer  thought  the  remark  too  obvious 
to  answer.  Of  course  Lacville  was  a  queer  place — to  put 
it  plainly,  little  better  than  a  gambling  hell.  He  knew 
that  well  enough!  But  it  was  rather  strange  to  hear  the 
Comte  de  Virieu  saying  so — a  real  case,  if  ever  there  was 
one,  of  Satan  rebuking  sin. 

So  at  last  he  answered,  irritably,  "Of  course  it  is!  I 
can't  think  what  made  Mrs.  Bailey  go  there  in  the  first 
instance."  His  mind  was  full  of  Sylvia.  He  seemed  to 
go  on  speaking  of  her  against  his  will. 

"  Her  going  to  Lacville  was  a  mere  accident,"  explained 
Paul  de  Virieu,  quickly.  "She  was  brought  there  by  the 
Polish  lady,  Madame  Wolsky,  of  whom  you  must  have 
heard  her  speak,  whom  she  met  in  an  hotel  in  Paris,  and 
who  disappeared  so  mysteriously.  It  is  not  a  place  for  a 
young  lady  to  be  at  by  herself." 

Bill  Chester  tilted  back  the  chair  on  which  he  was 
sitting.  Once  more  he  asked  himself  what  on  earth  the 
fellow  was  driving  at?  Were  these  remarks  a  preliminary 
to  the  Count's  saying  that  he  was  not  going  to  Switzer- 
land after  all — that  he  was  going  back  to  Lacville  in 
order  to  take  care  of  Sylvia. 


THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  311 

Quite  suddenly  the  young  Englisliman  felt  shaken  by 
a  very  primitive  and,  till  these  last  few  days,  a  very  un- 
familiar feeling — that  of  jealousy. 

Damn  it — he  wouldn't  have  that!  Of  course  he  was 
no  longer  in  love  with  Sylvia  Bailey,  but  he  was  her 
trustee  and  lifelong  friend.  It  was  his  duty  to  prevent 
her  making  a  fool  of  herself,  either  by  gambling  away  hrr 
monej — the  good  money  the  late  George  Bailey  ha<l 
toiled  so  hard  to  acquire — or,  what  would  be  ever  so 
much  worse,  by  making  some  wretched  marriage  to  a 
foreign  adventurer. 

He  stared  suspiciously  at  his  companion.  Was  it 
likely  that  a  real  count — the  French  equivalent  to  am 
English  earl — would  lead  the  sort  of  life  this  man,  Paul 
de  Virieu,  was  leading,  and  in  a  place  like  Lacville? 

"If  you  really  feel  like  that,  I  think  I'd  better  give  up 
my  trip  to  Switzerland,  and  go  back  to  Lacville  to-morrow 
morning." 

He  stared  hard  at  the  Count,  and  noted  with  sarcastic 
amusement  the  other's  appearance — so  foppish,  so  effem- 
inate to  English  eyes;  particularly  did  he  gaze  with  scorn 
at  the  Count's  yellow  silk  socks,  which  matched  his  lemon- 
coloured  tie  and  silk  pocket  handkerchief.  Fancy  start- 
ing for  a  long  night  journey  in  such  a  "get-up."  Well! 
Perhaps  women  liked  that  sort  of  thing,  but  he  would 
never  have  thought  Sylvia  Bailey  to  be  that  sort  of 
woman. 

A  change  came  over  Paul  de  Virieu's  face.  There  was 
unmistakable  relief — nay,  more — even  joy  in  the  voice 
with  which  the  Frenchman  answered, 

"That   is   excellent!    That   is   quite   right!    That   is 


312        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

first-rate!  Yes,  yes,  ]\Ir.  Chester,  you  go  back  to  Lac- 
ville  and  bring  her  away.  It  is  not  right  that  Mrs. 
Bailey  should  be  by  herself  there.  It  may  seem  absurd 
to  you,  but,  believe  me,  Lacville  is  not  a  safe  spot  in 
which  to  leave  an  unprotected  woman.  She  has  not  one 
single  friend,  not  a  person  to  whom  she  could  turn  to  for 
advice, — excepting,  of  course,  the  excellent  Polperro  him- 
self, and  he  naturally  desires  to  keep  his  profitable  client." 

"There's  that  funny  old  couple — I  mean  the  man 
called  Fritz  Something-or-other  and  his  wife.  Surely 
they're  all  right?"  observed  Chester. 

Paul  de  Virieu  shook  his  head  decidedly. 

"The  Wachners  are  not  nice  people,"  he  said  slowly. 
"They  appear  to  be  very  fond  of  Mrs.  Bailey,  I  know, 
but  they  are  only  fond  of  themselves.  They  are  adven- 
turers; 'out  for  the  stuff,'  as  Americans  say.  Old  Fritz 
is  the  worst  type  of  gambler — the  type  that  believes  he 
is  going  to  get  rich,  rich  beyond  dreams  of  avarice,  by  a 
*  system.'  Such  a  man  will  do  anything  for  money.  I 
believe  they  knew  far  more  of  the  disappearance  of 
Madame  Wolsky  than  anyone  else  did." 

The  Count  lowered  his  voice,  and  leant  over  the  table. 

"I  have  suspected,"  he  went  on — "nay,  I  have  felt 
sure  from  the  very  first,  Mr.  Chester,  that  the  Wachners 
are  blackmailers.  I  am  convinced  that  they  discovered 
something  to  that  poor  lady's  discredit,  and — after 
making  her  pay — drove  her  away!  Just  before  she  left 
Lacville  they  were  trying  to  raise  money  at  the  Casino 
money-changer's  on  some  worthless  shares.  But  after 
Madame  Wolsky's  disappearance  they  had  plent}-  of 
gold  and  notes." 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  313 

Chester  looked  across  at  his  companion.  At  last  he 
was  really  impressed.  Blackmailing  is  a  word  which  has 
a  very  ugly  sound  in  an  English  lawyer's  cars. 

"If  that  is  really  true,"  he  said  suddenly,  "I  almost 
feel  as  if  I  ought  to  go  back  to  Lacville  to-night.  I  sup- 
pose there  are  heaps  of  trains?" 

"You  might,  at  all  events,  wait  till  to-morrow  morn- 
ing," said  Paul  de  Virieu,  drily. 

He  also  had  suddenly  experienced  a  thrill  of  that 
primitive  passion,  jealousy,  which  had  surprised  Chester 
but  a  few  moments  before.  But  the  Count  was  a  French- 
man. He  was  familiar  with  the  sensation — nay,  he  wel- 
comed it.  It  showed  that  he  was  still  young — still 
worthy  to  be  one  of  the  great  company  of  lovers. 

Sylvia,  his  "petite  amie  Anglaise,"  seemed  to  have 
come  very  near  to  him  in  the  last  few  moments.  He  saw 
her  blue  eyes  brim  with  tears  at  his  harsh  words — he 
thrilled  as  he  had  thrilled  with  the  overmastering  im- 
pulse which  had  made  him  take  her  into  his  arms — her 
hand  lay  once  more  in  his  hand,  as  it  had  lain,  for  a 
moment  this  morning. 

Had  he  grasped  and  retained  that  kind,  firm  little 
hand  in  his,  an  entirely  new  life  had  been  within  his 
reach. 

A  vision  rose  before  Paul  de  Virieu — a  vision  of  Sylvia 
and  himself  living  heart  to  heart  in  one  of  those  small, 
stately  manor-houses  which  are  scattered  throughout  Brit- 
tany. And  it  was  no  vague  house  of  dreams.  He  knew 
the  little  chateau  very  well.  Had  not  his  sister  driven 
him  there  only  the  other  day?  And  had  she  not  con- 
veyed to  him  in  ddicate,  generous  words  how  gladly  she 


314        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

would  see  his  sweet  English  friend  established  there  as 
chatelaine? 

A   sense   of   immeasurable   loss   came   over   Paul   de 

Virieu But,  no,  he  had  been  right!    Quite  right! 

He  loved  Sylvia  far  too  well  to  risk  making  her  as  un- 
happy as  he  would  almost  certainly  be  tempted  to  make 
her,  if  she  became  his  wife. 

He  took  off  his  hat  and  remained  silent  for  what 
seemed  to  his  companion  quite  a  long  time. 

"By  the  way,  what  is  Mrs.  Bailey  doing  to-night?"  he 
asked  at  last. 

"To-night?"  replied  Chester.  "Let  me  see?  Why, 
to-night  she  is  spending  the  evening  with  those  very 
people — the  Wachners,  of  whom  you  were  speaking  just 
now.  I  heard  her  arranging  it  with  them  this  afternoon." 
He  added,  stiffly,  "But  I  doubt  if  your  impression  as  to 
these  people  is  a  right  one.  They  seem  to  me  a  very 
respectable  couple." 

Paul  de  Virieu  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  felt  sud- 
denly uneasy — afraid  he  hardly  knew  of  what. 

There  was  no  risk  that  Sylvia  Bailey  would  fall  a 
victim  to  blackmailers — she  had  nothing  to  be  ashamed 
of,  nothing  to  conceal.  But  still  he  hated  to  think  that 
she  was,  even  now,  alone  with  a  man  and  woman  of 
whom  he  had  formed  such  a  bad  impression. 

He  took  his  watch  out  of  his  pocket.  "There's  a 
train  for  Lacville  at  a  quarter  to  ten,"  he  said  slowly. 
"That  would  be  an  excellent  train  for — for  us — to 
take " 

"Then  are  you  thinking  of  going  back  to  Lacville 
too?"    There  was  that  sarcastic  inflection  in  the  Eng- 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUB  315 

Hshman's  voice  which  the  Count  had  learned  to  look  for 
and  to  resent. 

"Yes." 

Count  Paul  looked  at  Bill  Chester  significantly,  and 
his  look  said,  "Take  care,  my  friend!  We  do  not  allow 
a  man  to  sneer  at  another  man  in  this  country-  unless  he 
is  willing  to  stand  certain  unpleasant  consequences.  Our 
duels  are  not  always  your  rire!" 

During  the  short  train  journey  back  to  Lacville  they 
hardly  spoke.  Each  thought  that  the  other  was  doing 
a  strange  and  unreasonable  thing — a  thing  which  the 
thinker  could  have  done  much  better  if  left  to  himself. 

At  Lacville  station  they  jumped  into  a  victoria. 

"I  suppose  we  had  better  drive  straight  to  the  Villa 
du  Lac,"  said  Chester,  hesitatingly. 

"Yes,  we  had  better  go  first  to  the  Villa  du  Lac,  for 
Mrs.  Bailey  should  be  home  by  now.  By  the  way,  Mr. 
Chester,  you  had  better  ask  to  have  my  room  to-night; 
we  know  that  it  is  disengaged.  As  for  me,  I  will  go  on 
somewhere  else  as  soon  as  I  know  you  have  seen  our 
friend.  Please  do  not  tell  Mrs,  Bailey  that  I  came  with 
you.  Where  would  be  the  use?  I  may  go  back  to  Paris 
to-night."  Paul  de  Virieu  spoke  in  a  constrained,  pre- 
occupied voice. 

"But  aren't  you  coming  in?  Won't  you  stay  at  Lac- 
ville at  least  till  to-morrow?" 

Chester's  voice  unwittingly  became  far  more  cordial; 
if  the  Frenchman  did  not  wish  to  see  Sylvia,  why  had  he 
insisted  on  coming  back,  too,  to  Lacville. 

The  hall  of  the  Villa  du  Lac  was  brightly  lit  up,  and 
as  the  victoria  swept  up  the  short  drive  to  the  stone 


316        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

horseshoe  stairway,  the  Comte  de  Virieu  suddenly 
grasped  the  other's  hand. 

"Good  luck!"  he  exclaimed,  "Good  luck,  fortunate 
man!  As  the  Abbot  at  my  English  school  used  to  say 
to  me  when  he  met  me,  as  a  little  boy,  running  about  the 
cloisters,  'God  bless  you!'" 

Chester  was  rather  touched,  as  well  as  surprised.  But 
what  queer,  emotional  fellows  Frenchmen  are  to  be  sure! 
Although  Count  Paul,  as  Sylvia  used  to  call  him,  had 
evidently  been  a  little  bit  in  love  with  her  himself,  he  was 
quite  willing  to  think  of  her  as  married  to  another  man  I 

But — but  there  was  the  rub!  Chester  was  no  longer 
so  sure  that  he  wanted  to  marry  Sylvia.  She  had  be- 
come a  different  woman — she  seemed  to  be  another 
Sylvia  to  the  one  he  had  always  known. 

"I'll  just  come  out  and  tell  you  that  it's  all  right,"  he 
said  a  little  awkwardly.  "But  I  wish  you'd  come  in — 
if  only  for  a  minute.  Mrs.  Bailey  would  be  so  pleased  to 
see  you." 

"No,  no,"  muttered  the  other.  "Believe  me,  she 
would  not!" 

Chester  jumped  out  of  the  carriage  and  ran  quickly 
up  the  stone  steps,  and  rang  the  bell. 

The  door  was  opened  by  M.  Polperro  himself.  Even 
busier  than  usual  was  the  merry,  capable  little  chef,  for 
as  it  happened  Madame  Polperro  had  had  to  go  away  for 
two  or  three  days. 

"I  want  to  know,"  said  Chester  abruptly,  "if  you  can 
let  me  have  a  room  for  to-night?  The  room  the  Comte 
de  Virieu  occupied  is,  I  suppose,  disengaged?" 

"I  will  see,  M'sieur — I  will  inquire!" 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  317 

M.  Polperro  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  this  big 
Englishman  who  had  come  in  out  of  the  night,  bringing 
no  luggage  with  him  but  one  little  bag. 

Then  he  suddenly  remembered !  Why,  of  course,  this 
was  the  friend  of  the  pretty,  charming,  wealthy  Madame 
Bailey;  the  English  gentleman  who  had  been  staying 
during  the  past  few  days  at  the  Pension  Mai  fait!  A 
gentleman  who  was  called  after  a  well-known  cheese — 
yes,  Chester  was  his  name. 

Then  this  Mr.  Chester's  departure  from  Lacville  had 
been  a  fausse  sortie — a  ruse  to  get  rid  of  the  Comte  de 
Virieu,  who  was  also  in  love  with  the  lovely  young  Eng- 
lish widow? 

Ah!  Ah!  M.  Polperro  felt  very  much  amused.  Never 
had  he  heard  of  anything  so  droll!  But  the  Englishman's 
tale  of  love  was  not  to  run  smooth  after  all,  for  now 
another  complication  had  arisen,  and  the  very  last  one 
any  sensible  man  would  have  expected ! 

"Yes,  M'sieur,"  said  M.  Polperro  demurely,  "it  is  all 
right!  I  had  forgotten!  As  you  say,  the  Comte  de 
Virieu's  room  is  now  empty,  but" — he  hesitated,  and  with 
a  sly  look  added,  "indeed  we  have  another  room  empty 
to-night — a  far  finer  room,  with  a  view  over  the  lake — 
the  room  Madame  Bailey  occupied." 

"The  room  Mrs.  Bailey  occupied?"  echoed  Chester. 
"Has  Mrs.  Bailey  changed  her  room  to-day?" 

"Oh,  no,  M'sieur!  She  left  Lacville  this  very  even- 
ing.    I  have  but  just  now  received  a  letter  from  her." 

The  little  man  could  hardly  keep  serious.  Oh!  those 
Englishmen,  who  are  said  to  be  so  cold!  When  in  love 
they  behave  just  like  other  people. 


318        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

For  Chester  was  staring  at  him  with  puzzled,  \VTathful 
eyes. 

"Ah!  what  a  charming  lady,  M'sieur;  Madame  Pol- 
perro  and  I  shall  miss  her  greatly.  We  hoped  to  keep 
Madame  Bailey  all  the  summer.  But  perhaps  she  will 
come  back — now  that  M'sieur  has  returned."  He  really 
could  not  resist  that  last  thrust. 

"  Left  Lacville ! "  repeated  Chester  incredulously.  "  But 
that's  impossible!  It  isn't  more  than  three  hours  since 
we  said  good-bye  to  her  at  the  station.  She  had  no  in- 
tention of  leaving  Lacville  then.  Do  you  say  you've  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  her?" 

"Yes,  M'sieur." 

"  Will  you  please  show  it  me?  " 

"Certainly,  M'sieur." 

M.  Polperro,  followed  closely  by  the  Englishman, 
trotted  of!  into  his  office,  a  funny  little  hole  of  a  place 
which  had  been  contrived  under  the  staircase.  It  was 
here  that  Madame  Polperro  was  supposed  to  spend  her 
busy  days. 

M.  Polperro  felt  quite  lost  without  his  wife.  Slowly, 
methodically,  he  began  to  turn  over  the  papers  on  the 
writing-table,  which,  with  one  chair,  filled  up  all  the 
place. 

There  had  evidently  been  a  lovers'  quarrel  between 
these  two  peculiar  English  people.  What  a  pity  that 
the  gentleman,  who  had  very  properly  returned  to  beg 
the  lady's  pardon,  had  found  his  little  bird  flown — in 
such  poetic  terms  did  the  landlord  in  his  own  mind  refer 
to  Sylvia  Bailey. 

The  pretty  Englishwoman's  presence  in  the  Villa  du 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR  319 

Lac  had  delighted  M.  Polperro's  southern,  sentimental 
mind;  he  felt  her  to  be  so  decorative,  as  well  as  so  lucra- 
tive, a  guest  for  his  beloved  hotel.  Mrs.  Bailey  had  never 
questioned  any  of  the  extras  Madame  Tolperro  put  in 
her  weekly  bills,  and  she  had  never  become  haggard  and 
cross  as  other  ladies  did  who  lost  money  at  the  Casino. 

As  he  turned  over  the  papers — bills,  catalogues,  and 
letters  with  which  the  table  was  covered,  these  thoughts 
jflitted  regretfully  through  M.  Polperro's  mind. 

But  he  had  an  optimistic  nature,  and  though  he  was 
very  sorry  Madame  Bailey  had  left  the  Villa  du  Lac  so 
abruptly,  he  was  gratified  by  the  fact  that  she  had  lived 
up  to  the  ideal  he  had  formed  of  his  English  guest. 
Though  Madame  Bailey  had  paid  her  weekly  bill  only 
two  days  before — she  was  en  pension  by  the  day — she 
had  actually  sent  him  a  hundred  francs  to  pay  for  the 
two  days'  board;  the  balance  to  be  distributed  among 
the  servants.  .  .  . 

There  could  surely  be  no  harm  in  giving  this  big  Eng- 
lishman the  lady's  letter?  Still,  M.  Polperro  was  sorry 
that  he  had  not  Madame  Polperro  at  his  elbow  to  make 
the  decision  for  him. 

"Here  it  is,"  he  said  at  last,  taking  a  piece  of  paper 
out  of  the  drawer.  "I  must  have  put  it  there  for  my 
wife  to  read  on  her  return.  It  is  a  ^'ery  gratifying  letter 
— M'sieur  will  see  that  for  himself!" 

Chester  took  the  folded-up  piece  of  notepaper  out  of 
the  little  Frenchman's  hand  with  a  strange  feeling  of 
misgiving. 

He  came  out  into  the  hall  and  stood  under  the  cut- 
glass  chandelier — 


320        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

"You  have  made  a  mistake,"  he  exclaimed  quickly; 
"this  is  not  Mrs.  Bailey's  handwriting!" 

"Oh,  yes,  M'sieur,  it  is  certainly  Mrs.  Bailey's  letter. 
You  see  there  is  the  lady's  signature  written  as  plainly 
as  possible!" 

Chester  looked  down  to  where  the  man's  fat  finger 
pointed. 

In  the  strange,  the  alien  handwriting,  were  written 
two  words  which  for  a  moment  conveyed  nothing  to 
Chester,  "Silvea"  and  "Baylee";  as  for  the  writing, 
stiff,  angular,  large,  it  resembled  Sylvia's  sloping  English 
caligraphy  as  little  as  did  the  two  words  purporting  to 
be  her  signature  resemble  the  right  spelling  of  her  name. 

A  thrill  of  fear,  of  terrifying  suspicion,  flooded  Bill 
Chester's  shrewd  but  commonplace  mind. 

Slowly  he  read  the  strange  letter  through : 

"Monsieur  Polperro  (so  ran  the  missive  in  French) — 

I  am  leaving  Lacville  this  evening  in  order  to  join  my  friend 
Madame  Wolsky.  I  request  you  therefore  to  send  on  my  luggage 
to  the  cloak  room  at  the  Gare  du  Nord.  I  enclose  a  hundred- 
franc  note  to  pay  you  what  I  owe.  Please  distribute  the  rest  of 
the  money  among  the  servants.  I  beg  to  inform  you  that  I  have 
been  exceedingly  comfortable  at  the  Villa  du  Lac,  and  I  will  recom- 
mend your  hotel  to  all  my  friends. 

"Yours  very  cordially, 

"Stlvea  Baylee." 

Turning  on  his  heel,  and  without  even  throwing  a  word 
of  apology  to  the  astonished,  and  by  now  indignant, 
M.  Polperro,  Chester  rushed  out  of  the  hall  and  down  the 
stone  steps,  below  which  stood  the  victoria. 


THB   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUB  321 

"Well?"  cried  out  Paul  de  Virieu. 

"Come  into  the  house — now,  at  once!"  cried  Chester, 
roughly.     "Something  extraordinary  has  happened!" — 

The  Count  jumped  out  of  the  carriage,  and  a  moment 
later  the  two  men  stood  together  in  the  hall,  careless  of 
the  fact  that  M.  Polperro  was  staring  at  them  with 
affrighted  eyes. 

"This  letter  purports  to  be  from  Sylvia  Bailey,"  ex- 
claimed Chester  hoarsely,  "but  of  course  it  is  nothing  of 
the  sort!  She  never  wrote  a  line  of  it.  It's  entirely  un- 
like her  handwriting — and  then  look  at  the  absurd  signa- 
ture! What  does  it  mean,  Virieu?  Can  you  give  me 
any  clue  to  what  it  means?" 

The  Comte  de  Virieu  raised  his  head  from  over  the 
thin  sheet  of  notepaper,  and  even  Chester,  frightened 
and  angry  as  he  now  was,  could  not  help  noticing  how 
the  other  man's  face  had  changed  in  the  last  few  moments. 
From  being  of  a  usual  healthy  sunburn,  it  had  turned  so 
white  as  to  look  almost  green  under  the  bright  electric 
light. 

"Yes,  I  think  I  know  what  it  means,"  said  Count  Paul 
between  his  teeth.  "  A  letter  like  this  purported  to  come 
from  Madame  Wolsky  when  she  disappeared.  But  do 
not  let  us  make  a  scene  here.  Let  us  go  at  once  where  I 
believe  she  is,  for  if  what  I  fear  is  true  every  moment  is 
of  value." 

He  plucked  the  Englishman  by  the  sleeve,  and  hurried 
him  out  into  the  grateful  darkness. 

"Get  into  the  carriage,"  he  said,  imperiously.  "I  will 
see  to  ever>i;hing." 

Chester  heard  him  direct  the  driver  to  the  police-station. 


322        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

"We  may  need  two  or  three  gendarmes,"  muttered  Count 
Paul.     "It's  worth  the  three  minutes  delay." 

The  carriage  drew  up  before  a  shabby  little  house 
across  which  was  painted  in  large  black  letters  the  word 
"  Gendarmerie." 

The  Count  rushed  into  the  guard-room,  hurriedly  ex- 
plained his  errand  to  the  superintendent,  and  came  out, 
but  a  moment  later,  with  three  men. 

"We  must  make  room  for  these  good  fellows  some- 
how," he  said  briefly,  and  room  was  made.  Chester 
noticed  with  surprise  that  each  man  was  armed,  not  only 
with  a  stave,  but  with  a  revolver.  The  French  police 
do  not  stand  on  ceremony  even  with  potential  criminals. 

"And  now,"  said  the  Count  to  the  coachman,  "five 
louis,  my  friend,  if  you  can  get  us  to  the  Chalet  des 
Muguets  in  seven  minutes " 

They  began  driving  at  a  breakneck  pace,  the  driver 
whipping  up  his  horse,  lashing  it  in  a  way  that  horrified 
Chester.    The  light  little  carriage  rocked  from  side  to  side. 

"If  the  man  doesn't  drive  more  carefully,"  cried  out 
the  Englishman,  "  we  shall  be  spilt — and  that  won't  do 
us  any  good,  will  it?" 

The  Count  called  out,  "If  there's  an  accident  you  get 
nothing,  my  friend!  Drive  as  quickly  as  you  like,  but 
drive  carefully." 

They  swept  on  through  the  town,  and  so  along  the 
dimly-lighted  shady  avenues  with  which  even  Chester 
had  become  so  familiar  during  the  last  few  days. 

Paul  de  Virieu  sat  with  clenched  hands,  staring  in 
front  of  him.  Remorse  filled  his  soul — remorse  and 
anguish.     If  Sylvia  had  been  done  to  death,  as  he  now 


THE   CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUR  323 

had  very  little  doubt  Anna  Wolsky  had  been  done  to 
death,  then  he  would  die  too.  What  was  the  vice  which 
had  meant  all  to  him  for  so  many  years  compared  to  his 
love  for  Sylvia? 

The  gendarmes  murmured  together  in  quick,  excited 
tones.  They  scented  that  something  really  exciting, 
something  that  would  perhaps  lead  to  promotion,  was 
going  to  happen. 

At  last,  as  the  carriage  turned  into  a  dark  road.  Count 
Paul  suddenly  began  to  talk,  at  the  very  top  of  his  voice. 

"  Speak,  ?dr.  Chester,  speak  as  loud  as  you  can !  Shout ! 
Say  anything  that  j^ou  like!  They  may  as  well  hear  that 
we  are  coming " 

But  Chester  could  not  do  what  the  other  man  so 
urgently  asked  him  to  do.  Not  to  save  his  life  could  he 
have  opened  his  mouth  and  shouted  as  the  other  was  now 
doing. 

"We  are  going  to  pay  an  evening  call — what  you  in 
England  call  an  evening  call!  We  are  going  to  fetch  our 
friend— our  friend,  IMrs.  Bailey;  she  is  so  charming,  so 
delightful!  We  are  going  to  fetch  her  because  she  has 
been  spending  the  evening  with  her  friends,  the  Wachners. 
That  old  she-devil— you  remember  her,  surely?  The 
woman  who  asked  you  concerning  your  plans?  It  is  she 
I  fear " 

"Je  crois  que  c'est  id,  Monsieur?"  the  man  turned 
round  on  his  seat.     "I  have  done  it  in  six  minutes!" 

The  horse  was  suddenly  brought  up  short  opposite  the 
white  gate.  Was  this  where  the  Wachners  lived?  Ches- 
ter stooped  down.  The  place  looked  very  different  now 
from  what  it  had  looked  in  the  daylight. 


324  THE   CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

The  windows  of  the  small,  low  house  were  closely 
shuttered,  but  where  the  shutters  met  in  one  of  the 
rooms  glinted  a  straight  line  of  light. 

"We  are  in  time.  Thank  God  we  are  in  time,"  said 
the  Count,  with  a  queer  break  in  his  voice.  "  If  we  were 
not  in  time,  there  would  be  no  light.  The  house  of  the 
wicked  ones  would  be  in  darkness." 

And  then,  in  French,  he  added,  turning  to  the  gen- 
darmes: 

"You  had  better  all  three  stay  in  the  garden,  while 
my  friend  and  I  go  up  to  the  house.  If  we  are  gone  more 
than  five  minutes,  then  you  follow  us  up  to  the  house 
and  get  in  somehow!" 

In  varying  accents  were  returned  the  composed  an- 
swers, "Oui,  M'sieur." 

There  came  a  check,  for  the  little  gate  was  locked. 
Each  man  helped  another  over  very  quietly,  and  then 
the  three  gendarmes  dispersed  with  swift,  noiseless 
steps,  each  seeking  a  point  of  vantage  commanding  the 
house. 

Chester  and  Paul  de  Virieu  walked  quickly  up  the  path. 

Suddenly  a  shaft  of  bright  light  pierced  the  moonlit 
darkness.  The  shutters  of  the  dining-room  of  the  Chalet 
des  JNIuguets  had  been  unbarred,  and  the  window  was 
thrown  wide  open. 

"Qui  va  laf"  the  old  military  watchword,  as  the 
Frenchman  remembered  with  a  sense  of  terrible  irony, 
was  flung  out  into  the  night  in  the  harsh,  determined 
voice  of  Madame  Wachner. 

They  saw  her  stout  figure,  filling  up  most  of  the  win- 
dow, outlined  against  the  lighted  room.    She  was  lean- 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE   ARMOUH  325 

ing  out,  peering  into  the  garden  with  angry,  fear-filled 
eyes. 

Both  men  stopped  simultaneously,  but  neither  answered 
her. 

"Who  goes  there?"  she  repeated;  and  then,  "I  fear, 
Messieurs,  that  you  have  made  a  mistake.  You  have 
taken  this  villa  for  someone  else's  housel"  But  there 
was  alarm  as  well  as  anger  in  her  voice. 

"It  is  I,  Paul  de  Virieu,  ]\Iadame  Wachner." 

The  Count  spoke  quite  courteously,  hl.s  agreeable  voice 
thickened,  made  hoarse  by  the  strain  to  which  he  had 
just  subjected  it. 

"I  have  brought  Mr.  Chester  with  me,  for  we  have 
come  to  fetch  Mrs.  Bailey.  In  Paris  Mr.  Chester  found 
news  making  her  return  home  to  England  to-morrow  a 
matter  of  imperative  necessity." 

He  waited  a  moment,  then  added,  raising  his  voice  as 
he  spoke:  "We  have  proof  that  she  is  spending  the  even- 
ing with  you,"  and  he  walked  on  quickly  to  where  he 
supposed  the  front  door  to  be. 

"If  they  deny  she  is  there,"  he  whispered  to  his  com- 
panion, "we  will  shout  for  the  gendarmes  and  break  in. 
But  I  doubt  if  they  will  dare  to  deny  she  is  there  unless — 
unless " 

He  had  hoped  to  hear  Sylvia's  voice,  but  Madame 
Wachner  had  shut  the  window,  and  a  deathly  silence 
reigned  in  the  villa. 

The  two  men  stood  in  front  of  the  closed  door  for  what 
seemed  to  them  a  very  long  time.  It  was  exact!}-  two 
minutes;  and  when  at  last  the  door  opened,  slowly,  and 
revealed  the  tall,  lanky  figure  of  L'Ami  Fritz,  they  both 


326  THE   CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

heard  the  soft,  shuffling  tread  of  the  gendarmes  closing  in 
round  the  house. 

"I  pray  you  to  come  in,"  said  Monsieur  Wachner  in 
English,  and  then,  addressing  Bill  Chester, 

"I  am  pleased  to  see  you,  sir,  the  more  so  that  your 
friend,  Mrs.  Bailey,  is  indisposed.  A  moment  ago,  to 
our  deep  concern,  she  found  herself  quite  faint — no  doubt 
from  the  heat.  I  will  conduct  you,  gentlemen,  into  the 
drawing-room;  my  wife  and  Mrs.  Bailey  will  join  us 
there  in  a  minute,"  and  only  then  did  he  move  back 
sufficiently  to  allow  the  two  men  to  cross  the  threshold. 

Paul  de  Virieu  opened  his  lips — but  no  sound  came 
from  them.  The  sudden  sense  of  relief  from  what  had 
been  agonised  suspense  gripped  him  by  the  throat. 

He  brushed  past  Wachner,  and  made  straight  for  the 
door  behind  which  he  felt  sure  of  finding  the  woman 
whom  some  instinct  told  him  he  had  saved  from  a  ter- 
rible fate.  .  .  . 

He  turned  the  handle  of  the  dining-room  door,  and 
then  stopped  short,  for  he  was  amazed  at  the  sight  which 
met  his  eyes. 

Sylvia  was  sitting  at  a  round  table;  behind  her  was 
the  buffet,  still  laden  with  the  remains  of  a  simple  meal. 
Her  face  was  hidden  in  her  hands,  and  she  was  trembling 
— shaking  as  though  she  had  the  ague. 

But  what  amazed  Paul  de  Virieu  was  the  sight  of 
Sylvia's  hostess.  ]Madame  Wachner  was  crawling  about 
on  her  hands  and  knees  on  the  floor,  and  she  remained 
in  the  same  odd  position  when  the  dining-room  door 
opened. 

At  last  she  looked  up,  and  seeing  who  stood  there. 


THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR  327 

staring  down  at  her,  she  raised  herself  with  some  diffi- 
culty, looking  to  the  Frenchman's  sharpened  conscious- 
ness, like  some  monstrous  greedy  beast,  suddenly  baulked 
of  its  prey. 

"Such  a  misfortune  I"  she  exclaimed  in  English.  "Such 
a  very  great  misfortune!  The  necklace  of  our  friend  'as 
broken,  and  'er  beautiful  pearls  are  rolling  all  over  the 
floor!  We  'ave  been  trying,  Fritz  and  myself,  to  pick 
them  up  for  'er.  Is  not  that  so,  Sylvia?  Mrs.  Bailey  is 
so  distressed!  It  'as  made  'er  feel  very  faint,  what  En;:- 
lish  people  call  'queer.'  But  I  tell  'er  we  shall  find  them 
all — it  is  only  a  matter  of  a  little  time.  I  asked  'er  to 
take  some  cognac  my  'usband  keeps  for  such  bad  moments, 
but  no,  she  would  not!     Is  not  that  so,  Sylvia?" 

She  stared  down  anxiously  at  the  bowed  head  of  her 
guest. 

Sylvia  looked  up.  As  if  hj'pnotised  by  the  other 
woman's  voice,  she  rose  to  her  feet — a  wan,  pitiful  little 
smile  came  over  her  white  face. 

"Yes,"  she  said  dully,  "the  string  of  my  pearls  broke. 
I  was  taken  faint.  I  felt  horribly  queer — perhaps  it  was 
the  heat." 

Paul  de  Virieu  took  a  sudden  step  forvs-ard  into  the 
room.  He  had  just  become  aware  of  something  which 
had  made  him  also  feel  what  English  people  call  "queer." 

That  something  had  no  business  in  the  dining-room, 
for  it  belonged  to  the  kitchen — in  fact  it  was  a  large 
wooden  mallet  of  the  kind  used  by  French  cooks  to  beat 
meat  tender.  Just  now  the  club  end  of  the  mallet  was 
sticking  out  of  the  drawer  of  the  walnut-wood  buffet. 

The  drawer  had  evidently  been  pulled  out  askew,  and 


328        THE  CHTNK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

had  stuck — as  is  the  way  with  drawers  forming  part  of 
ill-made  furniture. 

Chester  came  to  the  door  of  the  dining-room.  M. 
Wachner  had  detained  him  for  a  moment  in  the  hall, 
talking  volubly,  explaining  how  pleasant  had  been  their 
little  supper  party  till  ]\Irs.  Bailey  had  suddenly  felt  faint. 

Chester  looked  an.xiously  at  Sylvia.  She  w^as  oddly 
pale,  all  the  colour  drained  from  her  face,  but  she  seemed 
on  quite  good  terms  with  ^Madame  Wachner !  As  for  that 
stout,  good-natured  looking  woman,  she  also  was  unlike 
her  placid  smiling  self,  for  her  face  looked  red  and  puffy. 
But  still  she  nodded  pleasantly  to  Chester. 

It  seemed  to  the  lawyer  inconceivable  that  this  com- 
monplace couple  could  have  seriously  meant  to  rob  their 
guest.  But  there  w'as  that  letter — that  strange,  sinister 
letter  which  purported  to  be  from  Sylvia!  Who  had 
written  that  letter,  and  with  what  object  in  view? 

Chester  began  to  feel  as  if  he  was  living  through  a  very 
disagreeable,  bewildering  nightmare.  But  no  scintilla  of 
the  horrible  truth  reached  his  cautious,  well-balanced 
brain.  The  worst  he  suspected,  and  that  only  because  of 
the  inexplicable  letter,  was  that  these  people  meant  to 
extract  money  from  their  guest  and  frighten  her  into 
leaving  Lacville  the  same  night. 

"Sylvia,"  he  said  rather  shortly,  "I  suppose  we  ought 
to  be  going  now.  We  have  a  carriage  waiting  at  the 
gate,  so  we  shall  be  able  to  drive  you  back  to  the  Villa 
du  Lac.  But,  of  course,  we  must  first  pick  up  all  your 
pearls.     That  won't  take  long ! " 

But  Sylvia  made  no  answer.  She  did  not  even  look 
round  at  him.    She  was  still  staring  straight  before  her, 


THE   CHINK   IN  THE   ARMOUR  329 

as  if  she  saw  something,  which  the  others  could  not  se«, 
written  on  the  distempered  wall. 

L'Ami  P>itz  entered  the  room  quietly.  lie  looked 
even  stranger  than  usual,  for  while  in  one  hand  he  held 
Mrs.  Bailey's  pretty  black  tulle  hat  and  her  little  bag,  in 
the  other  was  clutched  the  handle  of  a  broom. 

"I  did  not  think  you  would  want  to  go  back  into  my 
wife's  bed-room,"  he  said,  deprecatingly;  and  Mrs.  Bailey, 
at  last  turning  her  head  round,  actually  smiled  gratefully 
at  him. 

She  was  reminding  herself  that  there  had  been  a 
moment  when  he  had  been  wiUing  to  let  her  escape. 
Only  once — only  when  he  had  grinned  at  her  so  strangely 
and  deplored  her  refusal  of  the  drugged  coffee,  had  she 
felt  the  sick,  agonising  fear  of  him  that  she  had  felt  of 
Madame  Wachner. 

Laying  the  hat  and  bag  on  the  table,  L'Ami  Fritz 
began  sweeping  the  floor  with  long  skilful  movements. 

"This  is  the  best  way  to  find  the  pearls,"  he  muttered; 
and  three  of  the  four  people  present  stood  and  looked  on 
at  what  he  was  doing.  As  for  the  one  most  concerned, 
Sylvia  had  again  begun  to  stare  dully  before  her,  as  if 
what  was  going  on  did  not  interest  her  one  whit. 

At  last  Monsieur  Wachner  took  a  long  spoon  off  the 
table;  with  its  help  he  put  all  that  he  had  swept  up — 
pearls,  dust,  and  fluff — into  the  little  fancy  bag. 

"There,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "I  think  they 
are  all  there." 

But  even  as  he  spoke  he  knew  well  enough  that  some 
of  the  pearls — perhaps  five  or  six — had  found  their  way 
up  his  wife's  capacious  sleeve. 


330        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

And  then,  quite  suddenly,  Madame  Wachner  uttered 
a  hoarse  exclamation  of  terror.  One  of  the  gendarmes 
had  climbed  up  on  to  the  window-sill,  and  was  now  half 
into  the  room.  She  waddled  quickly  across  to  the  door, 
only  to  find  another  gendarme  in  the  hall. 

Sylvia's  eyes  glistened,  and  a  sensation  which  had 
hitherto  been  quite  unknown  to  her  took  possession  of 
her,  soul  and  body.  She  longed  for  revenge — revenge, 
not  for  herself  so  much  as  for  her  murdered  friend.  She 
clutched  Paul  by  the  arm.  "They  killed  Anna  Wolsky," 
she  whispered.  "She  is  lying  buried  in  the  wood,  where 
they  meant  to  put  me  if  you  had  not  come  just — only  just 
— in  time!" 

Paul  de  Virieu  took  Sylvia's  hat  off  the  dining-room 
table,  and  placed  it  in  her  hand,  closing  her  fingers  over 
the  brim.  With  a  mechanical  gesture  she  raised  her  arms 
and  put  it  on  her  head.  Then  he  ceremoniously  offered 
her  his  arm,  and  led  her  out  of  the  dining-room  into  the 
hall. 

While  actually  within  the  Chalet  des  Muguets  Count 
Paul  only  once  broke  silence.  That  was  when  Madame 
Wachner,  still  talking  volubly,  held  out  her  hand  in 
farewell  to  the  young  Englishwoman. 

"I  forbid  you  to  touch  her!"  the  Count  muttered 
between  his  teeth,  and  Sylvia,  withdrawing  her  half- 
outstretched  hand,  meekly  obeyed  him. 

Paul  de  Virieu  beckoned  to  the  oldest  of  the  police 
officials  present. 

"You  will  remember  the  disappearance  from  Lacville 
of  a  Polish  lady?  I  have  reason  to  believe  these  people 
murdered    her.     When    once    I    have    placed    Madame 


THE  CmNK  IN  THE  ARMOUR  331 

Bailey  under  medical  care,  I  will  return  here.  Mean- 
while you,  of  course,  know  what  to  do." 

"But  M'sieur,  ought  I  not  to  detain  this  English  lady?" 

"Certainly  not.  I  make  myself  responsible  for  her. 
She  is  in  no  state  to  bear  an  interrogation.  Lock  up 
these  people  in  separate  rooms.  I  will  send  you  rein- 
forcements, and  to-morrow  morning  dig  up  the  little  wood 
behind  the  house '^ 

Behind  them  came  the  gruff  and  the  shrill  tones  of 
L'Ami  Fritz  and  his  wife  raised  in  indignant  expostula- 
tion. 

"Are  you  coming,  Sylvia?"  called  out  Chester  im- 
patiently. 

He  had  gone  on  into  the  garden,  unwilling  to  assume 
any  responsibility  as  to  the  police.  After  all,  there  was 
no  evidence,  not  what  English  law  would  recognise  as 
evidence,  against  these  people. 

Out  in  the  darkness,  with  the  two  men,  one  on  either 
side  of  her,  Sylvia  walked  slowly  to  the  gate.  Between 
them  they  got  her  over  it  and  into  the  victoria. 

Paul  de  Virieu  pulled  out  the  little  back  seat,  but 
Chester,  taking  quick  possession  of  it,  motioned  him  to 
sit  by  Mrs.  Bailey. 

"To  Paris,  Hotel  du  Louvre,"  the  Count  called  out  to 
the  driver.  "You  can  take  as  long  as  you  like  over  the 
journey!" 

Then  he  bent  forward  to  Chester,  "The  air  will  do  her 
good,"  he  murmured. 

By  his  side,  huddled  up  in  a  corner  of  the  carriage, 
Sylvia  lay  back  inertly;  but  her  eyes  were  wide  open, 
and  she  was  staring  hungrily  at  the  sky,  at  the  stars. 


332        THE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

She  had  never  thought  to  see  the  sky  and  the  stars  again. 

They  were  now  moving  very  slowly,  almost  at  a  foot's 
pace. 

The  driver  was  accustomed  to  people  who  suddenly 
decided  to  drive  all  the  way  back  to  Paris  from  Lacville 
after  an  evening's  successful  or,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
unsuccessful  play.  He  had  been  very  much  relieved  to 
see  his  two  gentlemen  come  back  from  the  chalet  and  to 
leave  the  gendarmes  behind.  He  had  no  wish  to  get 
mixed  up  in  a  fracas,  no  wish,  that  is,  to  have  any  em- 
barrassments with  the  police. 

They  drove  on  and  on,  into  the  open  country;  through 
dimly-lit,  leafy  thoroughfares,  through  long  stretches  of 
market  gardens,  till  they  came  on  to  the  outskirts  of  the 
great  city — and  still  Sylvia  remained  obstinately  silent. 

Paul  de  Virieu  leant  forward. 

"Speak  to  her,"  he  said  in  an  urgent  whisper.  "Take 
her  hand  and  try  to  rouse  her,  Mr.  Chester.  I  feel  very 
anxious  about  her  condition." 

Chester  in  the  darkness  felt  himself  flushing.  With  a 
diffident,  awkward  gesture  he  took  Sylvia's  hand  in  his 
— and  then  he  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and 
concern. 

The  hand  he  held  was  quite  cold — cold  and  nerveless 
to  the  touch,  as  if  all  that  constitutes  life  had  gone  out 
of  it.  "My  dear  girl!"  he  exclaimed.  "I'm  afraid  those 
people  frightened  you  badly?  I  suppose  you  began  to 
suspect  they  meant  to  steal  your  pearls?" 

But  Sylvia  still  remained  obstinately  silent.  She  did 
not  want  to  speak,  she  only  wanted  to  live. 

It  was  so  strange  to  feel  oneself  alive — alive  and  whole 


THE  CHINK   IN  THE  ARMOUR  333 

at  a  time  when  one  had  thought  to  be  dead,  having  been 
done  to  death  after  an  awful,  disfiguring  struggle — for 
Sylvia  had  determined  to  struggle  to  the  end  with  her 
murderers. 

"My  Godl"  muttered  Paul  de  Virieu.  "Do  you  not 
understand,  Chester,  what  happened  to-night?  They 
meant  to  kill  her!" 

"To  kill  her?"  repeated  Chester  incredulously. 

Then  there  came  over  him  a  rush  and  glow  of  angry 
excitement.  Good  God!  If  that  was  the  case  they 
ought  to  have  driven  back  at  once  to  the  Lacville  police- 
station  ! 

"Sylvia!"  he  exclaimed.  "Rouse  yourself,  and  tell  us 
what  took  place!  If  what  the  Count  says  is  true,  some- 
thing must  be  done,  and  at  once!" 

He  turned  to  Paul  de  Virieu:  "The  police  ought  to 
take  Mrs.  Bailey's  full  statement  of  all  that  occurred 
without  any  loss  of  time!"  All  the  lawyer  in  him  spoke 
angrily,  agitatedly. 

Sylvia  moved  slightly.  Paul  de  Virieu  could  feel  her 
shuddering  by  his  side. 

"Oh,  Bill,  let  me  try  to  forget!"  she  moaned.  And 
then,  lifting  up  her  voice,  she  wailed,  "  They  killed  Anna 
Wolsky " 

Her  voice  broke,  and  she  began  to  sob  convulsively. 
"  I  would  not  think  of  her — I  forced  myself  not  to  think 
of  her — but  now  I  shall  never,  never  think  of  anyone 
else  any  more!" 

Paul  de  Virieu  turned  in  the  kindly  darkness,  and 
putting  his  arm  round  Sylvia's  slender  shoulders,  he 
tenderly  drew  her  to  him. 


334  THE   CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR 

A  passion  of  pity,  of  protective  tenderness,  filled  his 
heart,  and  suddenly  lifted  him  to  a  higher  region  than 
that  in  which  he  had  hitherto  been  content  to  dwell. 

"You  must  not  say  that,  ma  cherie,"  he  whispered, 
la^-ing  his  cheek  to  hers  as  tenderly  as  he  would  have 
caressed  a  child,  "it  would  be  too  cruel  to  the  living,  to 
those  who  love  you — who  adore  you." 

Then  he  raised  his  head,  and,  in  a  very  diflferent  tone, 
he  exclaimed, 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,  Mr.  Chester,  those  infamous  people 
shall  not  be  allowed  to  escape!  Poor  Madame  Wolsky 
shall  surely  be  avenged.  But  Mrs.  Bailey  will  not  be 
asked  to  make  any  statement,  except  in  wTiting — in  what 
you  in  England  call  an  affidavit.  You  do  not  realise, 
although  you  doubtless  know,  what  our  legal  procedure 
is  like.  Not  even  in  order  to  secure  the  guillotine  for 
Madame  Wachner  and  her  Fritz  would  I  expose  Mrs. 
Bailey  to  the  ordeal  of  our  French  witness-box." 

"And  how  will  it  be  possible  to  avoid  it?"  asked 
Chester,  in  a  low  voice. 

Paul  de  Virieu  hesitated,  then,  leaning  forward  and 
holding  Sylvia  still  more  closely  and  protectively  to  him, 
he  said  very  deliberately  the  fateful  words  he  had  never 
thought  to  say, 

"I  have  an  announcement  to  make  to  you,  Mr.  Chester. 
It  is  one  which  I  trust  will  bring  me  your  true  congratu- 
lations. Mrs.  Bailey  is  about  to  do  me  the  honour  of 
becoming  my  wife." 

He  waited  a  moment,  then  added  very  gravely,  "I  am 
giving  her  an  undertaking,  a  solemn  promise  by  all  I 
hold  most  sacred,  to  abandon  play " 


TETE  CHINK  IN  THE  ARMOUR  335 

Chester  felt  a  shock  of  amazement.  How  utterly  mis- 
taken, how  blind  he  had  beenl  He  had  felt  positively 
certain  that  Sylvia  had  refused  Paul  de  \irieu;  and  he 
had  been  angered  by  the  suspicion,  nay,  by  what  he  had 
thought  the  sure  knowledge,  that  the  wise  refusal  had 
cost  her  pain. 

But  women  are  extraordinary  creatures,  and  so,  for 
the  matter  of  that,  are  Frenchmen 

Still,  his  feelings  to  the  man  sitting  opposite  to  him 
had  undergone  a  complete  change.  He  now  liked — nay, 
he  now  respected — Paul  de  Virieu.  But  for  the  Count, 
whom  he  had  thought  to  be  nothing  more  than  an  effem- 
inate dandy,  a  hopeless  gambler,  where  would  Sylvia  be 
now?  The  unspoken  answer  to  this  question  gave  Chester 
a  horrible  inward  tremor. 

He  leant  forward,  and  grasped  Paul  de  Virieu's  left 
hand. 

"I  do  congratulate  you,"  he  said,  simply  and  heartily; 
"you  deserve  your  great  good  fortune."  Then,  to  Sylvia, 
he  added  quietly,  "My  dear,  it  is  to  him  you  owe  your 
life." 


There's  More  to  Follow! 

More  stories  of  the  sort  you  like; 
more,  probably,  by  the  author  of  this 
one;  more  than  500  titles  all  tolJ  by 
writers  of  world-wide  reputation,  in 
the  Authors*  Alphabetical  List  which 
you  will  find  on  the  reverse  side  of  the 
wrapper  of  this  book.  Look  it  over 
before  you  lay  it  aside.  There  are 
books  here  you  are  sure  to  want — some, 
possibly,  that  you  have  always  wanted. 

It  is  a  selected  list;  every  book  in  it 
has  achieved  a  certain  measure  of 
success. 

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the  greatest  Index  of  Good  Fiction 
available,  it  represents  in  addition  a 
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EMERSON    HOUGH'S    NOVELS 


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THE  COVERED  WAGON 

An  epic  story  of  the  Great  West  from  which  the  fam- 
ous picture  was  made. 

THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN 

A  colorful  romance  of    the  pioneer  West  before   the 
CivU  War. 

THE  SAGEBRUSHER 

An  Eastern  girl  answers  a  matrimonial  ad.  and  goes  out 
West  in  the  hills  of  Montana  to  find  her  mate. 

THE  WAY  OUT 

A  romance  of  the  feud  districtof  the  Cumberland  country. 

THE  BROKEN  GATE 

A  ttoryof  broken  social  conventions  and  of  a  woman's 
determination  to  put  the  past  behind  her. 

THE  WAY  TO  THE  WEST 

Daniel  Boone,  Davy  Crockett  and  Kit  Carson  figure  in 
this  story  of  the  opening  of  the  West. 

HEART'S  DESIRE 

The  story  of  what  happens  when  the  railroad  came  to  a 
little  settlement  in  the  far  West. 

THE  PURCHASE  PRICE 

A  story  of  Kentucky  during  the  days  after  the  American 
Revolution. 


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M^rOGDENrS^WESTERN  NOVEI| 

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THE  BARON  OF  DIAMOND  TAIL 

The  Elk  Muuntain  Cattle  Co.  had  not  paid  a  dividend  in  years ; 
so  Edgar  Barrett,  fresh  from  the  navy,  was  sent  West  to  see  what 
was  wrong  at  the  ranch.  The  tale  of  this  tenderfoot  outwitting  the 
buckaroos  at  their  own  play  will  sweep  you  into  the  action  of  this 
salient  western  novel. 
THE  BONDBOY 

Joe  Newbolt,  bound  out  by  force  of  family  conditions  to  work  for 
a  number  of  years,  is  accused  of  murder  and  circumstances  ^re 
against  him.  His  mouth  is  sealed;  he  cannot,  as  a  gentleman,  utter 
the  words  that  wotild  clear  him.  A  dramatic,  romantic  tale  of  mtense 
interest. 
CLAIM  NUMBER  ONE 

Dr   Warren  Slavens  drew  claim  number  one,  which  entitled  him 
to  first  choice  of  rich  lands  on  an  Indian  reservation  in  Wyoming   It 
meant  a  fortune  ;  but  before  he  established  his  ownership  he  had  a 
hard  battle  with  crooks  and  politicians. 
THE  DUKE  OF  CHIMNEY  BUTTE 

When  Terry  Lambert,  "the  Duke,"  attempts  to  safe^ard  the 
cattle  ranch  of  Vesta  Philbrook  from  thieving  neighbors  his  work  is 
appallingly  handicapped  because  of  Grace  Kerr,  one  of  the  chief  agi- 
tators, and  a  deadly  enemy  of  Vesta's.  A  stimng  tale  of  brave  deeds, 
gun-play  and  a  love  that  shines  above  all. 
THE  FLOCKMASTER  OF  POISON  CREEK 

John  Mackenzie  trod  the  trail  from  Jasper  to  the  great  sheep 
country  where  fortunes  were  being  made  by  the  tlock-mastere. 
Shepherding  was  not  a  peaceful  pursuit  in  those  bygone  days.  Ad- 
venture met  him  at  every  turn-there  is  a  girl  of  course-men  hght 
their  best  fights  for  a  woman— it  is  an  epic  of  the  sheeplands. 
THE  LAND  OF  LAST  CHANCE 

Jim  Timberlake   and  Capt.    David  Scott  waited  with  restless 

thousands  on  the  Oklahoma'^line  for  the  «>?"^1  ^°  ^^^^^f^^^^'Vow 
border.  How  the  city  of  Victory  arose  overmght  on  the  plains,  how 
people  savagely  defended  their  claims  against  the  sooners.  how 
ITod  men  aid  bad  played  politics,  makes  a  strong  story  of  growth 
and  American  initiative. 
TRAIL'S  END 

Ascalon  was  the  end  of  the  trail  fo'' th!«VXS.°^MoTean^wII 

vent  to  their  pent-up  feelings  without  restraint.  Calvin  Morgan  was 
SconcemerwithLwickednessuntilSethCraddocksm^^^^^ 

directed  itself  against  him.  He  did  not  «'?^^|f,/,^°^^3^^^^d  ^^'3 
until  he  had  obliterated  every  vestige  of  law  essness,  and  assurea 
himself  of  the  safety  of  a  certain  dark-eyed  girl.  _ 

Ask    for  Complete   free  Iht  of  g7& ^^P^^^!!^}'^^il}^ 

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Dr.  Virgima  Page  h  forced  to  go  with  the  sheriff  on  a  night  journey 
mto  the  strongholdj  of  a  lawless  band.  Thrills  and  excitement  sweep  the 
reader  along  to  the  end. 


THE  EVERLASTING  WHISPER 

,  The  story  of  a  strong  man's  struggle  against  savage  nature  and  human. 
ity,  and  of  a  beautihil  girrs  regeneration  from  •  spoiled  child  of  wealth  into 
a  courageous  stiong-wiUed  woman. 

DESERT  VALLEY 

A  college  professor  sets  out  with  his  daughtet  to  find  gold.  They  meet 
a  rancher  who  loses  his  heart,  and  become  involred  m  •  iaid.  An  intensely 
exciting  story. 

MAN  TO  MAN 

Encircled  with  enemies,  distrusted,  Steve  defends  his  righu.  How  he 
won  his  game  and  the  girl  he  loved  is  the  story  611ed  wtth  breathless 
situations. 

THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  JUAN 

Dr.  Virginia  Page  is  forced  to  go  v> 
mto  the  strongholds  of  a  lawless  band.  1 
reader  along  to  the  end. 

JUDITH  OF  BLUE  LAKE  RANCH 

Judith  Sanford  part  owner  of  a  cattle  ranch  realizes  she  is  being  robbed 
by  her  foreman.  How,  with  the  help  of  Bud  Lee.  she  checkmates  Trevor's 
scheme  makes  fascinating  reading. 

THE  SHORT  CUT 

Wayne  is  suspected  of  killing  his  brother  after  a  violent  quarrel.  Finan- 
cial complications,  villains,  a  horse-race  and  beautiful  Wanda,  all  go  to  make 
up  a  thrilling  romfmce. 

THE  JOYOUS  TROUBLE  MAKER 

A  reporter  sets  up  housekeeping  close  to  Beatrice's  Ranch  much  to  her 
chagrin.  There  is  "  another  man  "  who  complicates  matters,  but  all  turns 
out  as  it  should  in  this  tale  of  romance  and  adventure. 

SIX  FEET  FOUR 

Beatrice  Waverly  is  robbed  of  $5,000  and  suspicion  fastens  upon  Buck 
Thornton,  but  she  soon  realizes  he  is  not  guilty.  Intensely  exciting,  here  is  » 
real  story  of  the  Great  Far  West. 

WOLF  BREED 

No  Luck  Orennan  had  grown  hard  through  loss  of  faith  in  men  he  had 
trusted.  A  woman  hater  and  sharp  of  tongue,  he  finds  a  match  in  Ygeme 
whose  clever  fencing  wins  the  admiration  and  love  of  the  "  Lone  Wolf." 

Grosset  &  DuNLAP,        Publishers,        New  York 


PETER  B.  KYNE^S  NOVELS 

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THE  PRIDE  OF  PALOMAR 

When  two  strong  men  clash  and  the  under-dog  has  Irish 
blood  in  his  veins — there's  a  tale  that  Kyne  can  tell  1  And 
"  the  g^rl "  is  also  very  much  in  evidence. 

KINDRED  OF  THE  DUST 

Donald  McKay,  son  of  Hector  McKay,  millionaire  lum 
bar  king,  falls  in  love  with  "  Nan  of  the  Sawdust  Pile,"  a 
charming  girl  who  has  been  ostracized  by  her  townsfolk. 

THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  GIANTS 

The  fight  of  the  Cardigans,  father  and  son,  to  hold  the 
Valley  of  the  Giants  against  treachery.  The  reader  finishes 
with  a  sense  of  having  Uved  with  big  men  and  women  in  a 
big  country. 

CAPPY  RICKS 

The  story  of  old  Cappy  Ricks  and  of  Matt  Peasley,  the 
boy  he  tried  to  break  because  he  knew  the  acid  test  was 
good  for  his  soul. 

W^EBSTER:   MAN'S  MAN 

In  a  little  Jim  Crow  Republic  in  Central  America,  a  man 
and  a  woman,  hailing  from  the  "  States,"  met  up  with  a 
revolution  and  for  a  while  adventures  and  excitement  came 
so  thick  and  fast  that  their  love  affair  had  to  wait  for  a  lull 
in  the  game. 
CAPTAIN  SCRAGGS 

This  sea  yarn  recounts  the  adventures  of  three  rapscal- 
lion sea-faring  men— a  Captain  Scraggs,  owner  of  the  green 
vegetable  freighter  Maggie,  Gibney  the  mate  and  McGuff- 
ney  the  engineer. 
THE  LONG  CHANCE 

A  story  fresh  from  the  heart  of  the  West,  of  San  Pasqual, 
a  sun-baked  desert  town,  of  Harley  P.  Hennage,  the  best 
gambler,  the  best  and  worst  man  of  San  Pasqual  and  of 
lovely  Donna. 

Grosset  &  DuNLAP,        Publishers.         New  York 


EDGAR    RICE    BURROUGH'S 
NOVELS 

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TARZAN  AND  THE  GOLDEN  LION 

A  tale  of  the  African  wilderness  which  appeals  to  all  readers 
of  fiction. 

TARZAN  THE  TERRIBLE 

Further  thrilling  adventures  of  Tarzan  while  seeking  his  wife 
in  Africa. 

TARZAN  THE  UNTAMED 

Tells  of  Tarzan's  return  to  the  life  of  the  ape-man  in  seeking 
vengeance  for  the  loss  of  his  wife  and  home. 

JUNGLE  TALES  OF  TARZAN 

^  Records  the  many  wonderful  exploits  by  which  Tarzan  proves 
his  right  to  ape  kingship. 

AT  THE  EARTH'S  CORE 

An  astonishing  series  of  adventures  in  a  world  located  inside 
of  the  Earth.    , 

THE  MUCKER 

The  story  of  Billy  Byrne — as  extraordinary  a  character  as  the 
famous  Tarzan. 

A  PRINCESS  OF  MARS 

Forty-three  million  miles  from  the  earth — a  saccession  of  the 
wierdsst  and  most  astounding  adventures  in  fiction. 

THE  GODS  OF  MARS 

John  Carter's  adventures  on  Mars,  where  he  fights  the  fero- 
cious "plant  men,"  and  defies  Issus,  the  Goddess  of  Death. 

THE  WARLORD  OF  MARS 

Old  acquaintances,  made  in  two  other  stories    reappear.  Tars 
Tarkas,  Tardos  Mors  and  others. 

THUVIA,  MAID  OF  MARS 

The  story  centers  around  the  adventures  of  Carthoris,  the  son 
of  John  Carter  and  Thuvia,  daughter  of  a  Martian  Emperor. 

THE  CHESSMEN  OF  MARS 

>  The  adventures  of  Princess  Tara  in  the  land  of  headless  men, 
creatures  with  the  power  of  detaching  their  heads  from  their 
bodies  and  replacing  them  at  will. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,    Publishers,  NEW  YORK 


JAMES  OLIVER  CURWOOD^S 
STORIES  OF  adventurp: 


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THE  COUNTRY  BEYOND 

THE  FLAMING  FOREST 

THE  VALLEY  OF  SILENT  MEN 

THE  RIVER  S  END 

THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

NOMADS  OF  THE  NORTH 

KAZAN 

BARE£  SON  OF  KAZAN 

THE  COURAGE  OF  CAPTAIN  PLUM 

THE  DANGER  TRAIL 

THE  HUNTED  WOMAN 

THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  NORTH 

THE  GRIZZLY  KING 

ISOBEL 

THE  WOLF   HUNTERS 

THE  GOLD  HUNTERS 

THE  COURAGE  OF   MARGE  O'DOONS 

BACK  TO  GOD'S  COUNTRY 


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ZANE    GREY'S   NOVELS 

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TO  THE  LAST  MAN 

THE  MYSTERIOUS  RIDER 

THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST 

THE  DESERT  OF  WHEAT 

THE  U.  P.  TRAIL 

WILDFIRE 

THE  BORDER  LEGION 

THE  RAINBOW  TRAIL 

THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  DESERT 

RIDERS  OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE 

THE  LIGHT  OF  WESTERN  STARS 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  PLAINSMEN 

THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

DESERT  GOLD 

BETTY  ZANE 

LAST  OF  THE  GREAT  SCOUTS 

The  life  story  of  "  Buffalo  Bill "  by  his  sister  Helen  Cody 
Wetmore,  with  Foreword  and  conclusion  by  Zane  Grey. 

ZANE  GREY'S  BOOKS  FOR  BOYS 

KEN  WARD  IN  THE  JUNGLE 
THE  YOUNG  LION   HUNTER 
THE  YOUNG   FORESTER 
THE  YOUNG  PITCHER 
THE  SHORT  STOP 

THE  RED-HEADED  OUTFIELD  AND  OTHER 
BASEBALL  STORIES 

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JACK   LONDON^S    NOVELS 

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ADVENTURE 

BURNING  DAYLIGHT 

CALL  OF  THE  WILD.  THE 

DAUGHTER  OF  THE  SNOWS.   A 

JERRY.  OF  THE  ISLANDS 

JOHN  BARLEYCORN 

LITTLE  LADY  OF  THE  BIG  HOUSE 

MARTIN  EDEN 

MICHAEL.   BROTHER  OF  JERRY 

MUTINY  OF  THE  ELSINORE.  THE 

NIGHT  BORN.  THE 

SEA  WOLF.   THE 

SMOKE  BELLEW 

SON  OF  THE  WOLF.  THE 

STAR  ROVER.  THE 

VALLEY  OF  THE  MOON.  THE 

WHITE  FANG 


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NOVELS  OF  FRONTIER  LIFE 

WILLIAM    Mac  LEOD    RAINE 


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BIG-TOWN   ROUND-UP.  THE 

BRAND  BLOTTERS 

BUCKY  O'CONNOR 

CROOKED  TRAILS  AND  STRATGHT 

DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS.  A 

GUNSIGHT  PASS 

HIGHGRADFR,  THE 

MAN  FOUR-SQUARE.  A' 

MAN-SIZE 

MAVERICKS 

OH,  YOU  TEX  ! 

PIRATE  OF  PANAMA.  THE 

RIDGWAY  OF  MONTANA 

SHERIFF'S  SON,  THE 

STEVE  YEAGER 

TANGLED  TRAILS 

TEXAS  RANGER.  A 

VISION  SPLENDID,  THE 

WYOMING 

YUKON  TRAIL,  THE 


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